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Lyrics of Love 



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http://www.archive.org/details/lyricsofloveofheOOsang 



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LYMCSy'LOVE 




OF HEARTH 




AND HOME 




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FI ELD 




AND GAR,DEN 




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MAR,GAIbET E.SANGSTER. 




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NEW YORK CHICAGO TORONTO 




FLEMING H.LEVELL COMPANY 




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Copyright, 1901, by 

FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY 

(August) 



THE LIBRARY OF 

CONGREfrS. 
Two Copitd Received 

OCT, 5 1901 

COPVRIQHT ENTRY 

CLASS OLXXc. NO. 
COPY B^ 



752.7^7 

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THE CAXTON PRESS 
NEW YORK. 



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To 

LEILA SEWARD GLEASON 

with affectionate regard 



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Foreword 

ANY of the verses in this volume ap- 
pear for the first time. She who 
writes dares to hope that you, the 
Gentle Reader, will let them slip into the midst 
of your busy mornings and quiet evenings 
with a message of comfort and cheer. They 
are songs of the nest and the home, songs of 
the way and the inn, songs of love and fidelity 
and the eternal peace. 

The Gentle Reader is not supposed to be 
a rigid critic, nor to ask a symphony when 
one plays only a slender pipe. If these lyrics 
shall add a thread of melody to the toiling, 
dusty, monotonous way, which, after all, is the 
way that leads us home, the author will be 
content. 

It is of the Father's goodness that we have 
fields and gardens in which to gather flowers, 





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that brooks murmur and rivers flow, making 
green the pasture lands of life, and that, when 
all else is said, our most abiding interests are 
ever in the home. These home verses are for 
home folk, God bless them. 



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Thanks for kind consent to include in this collection 
poems which originally were published in periodicals are 
due to Messrs. Harper & Brothers, ** The Congregation- 
alist,'* Will Carleton's «* Everywhere/' *«The Youth's 
Companion, " *< Outlook, " ' * Independent, " * ' Wom- 
an' s Home Companion," ** Christian Intelligencer," 
" Lippincott's Magazine," and ''Scribner's Magazine." 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Ingle-Nook ii 

Silent Friends I2 

A Gey Auld Wife 13 

The Average Man 14 

My Little Sweetheart IS 

The Joy of Coming Home 16 

My Friend 17 

Impotent 17 

When Sorrow Came 18 

Faith 19 

Early Sabbath Morning 20 

Little Sister 21 

The Absent Boy 22 

Beloved — A Secret 23 

The Price We Pay 24 

To You and Me 25 

After Long Years 26 

The Wizard Love 27 

The Heroine .28 

An Experience ,29 

A Little Vagabond 30 

Sunrise 31 

On Christmas Eve 32 

In Grandmother's Corner 36 

Indoors at Night 37 



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Our Flag 38 

Courage 39 

A Wedding 40 

At the Front 42 

Never More 44 

Embers 45 

A Finished Page 46 

When Daddy Lights the Tree . . . .48 

In the Rain ........ 50 

To a Little Maiden 5! 

Immortal 52 

The Returning 52 

The Little Waves 54 

Midnight 55 

Holy Days and Happy Days 56 

As Women Know 58 

In the Attic 59 

Norah 60 

Now and Then 62 

Peace 6$ 

If Christ Were Here To-night . . . .64 

If the Lord Should Come ..... 66 

A Resurrection Song 68 

To One Gone Home 70 

The Star 72 

A Day's Wage 75 

I Stand at the Door 75 



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PAGE 

Much Ado 76 

Te Deum Laudamus 77 

The Wrong Turning 78 

A Thought 78 

When First She Heard 79 

One of These Days 81 

At the Fort 82 

It Was Not Worth While 84 

Naming the Baby 85 

A Cradle Croon 86 

Twice a Day 88 

At the Coronation 89 

Hope 90 

Mother 91 

Nursery Cares 93 

Victoria Regina, 1900 95 

Evensong 98 

A Homestead Rally lOi 

A Bit of the Book 104 

Wild Flowers 107 

Afterglow 109 

An Old Garden no 

A Retreat 112 

Mother's Flowers .113 

Mosses 113 

The Child Among the Lilies 114 

Heartsease 116 



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Arbor Day , . . .117 

The Corn and Wheat . . , , .118 

Forest Blessings . , . . . . . 120 

May Winds 121 

Flower o' the Apple 122 

The Little Brown Mate 123 

A Good-by 124 

A Matin Song 126 

September 128 

Pansies 129 

The Outer Court 130 

East and West . . 131 

Golden Rod 132 

A Snow Etching 133 

Katydid 134 

A Wish 136 

Thanksgiving 137 

October 138 

A Wind of the South 139 

Dancing in the Street , 140 

The Resting of the Fields 141 

Hillside Way 142 

The White Days of Winter 143 

The Last Red Leaf 144 

The Touch of Earth 146 

One Summer Day 147 

The Fairy People's Spinning 148 



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PAGE 

The Fresh Spring Flowers 149 

In Florida 152 

A Song for the Home-Land , . . . 153 

In Early Spring 155 

Bouncing Bet 157 

The Ripple on the Grass 159 

Vespers 160 

The Little Green Umbrellas 162 

Honey Bees 163 

Jack in the Pulpit 165 

By the Spring 166 

Palms 166 

Frost on the Pane . . . . . . . 166 

The Boy and the Brook 167 

The Days of a Tree 167 

Mignonette 171 

Forget-Me-Nots 171 

Harvest 172 

A Haunted House 173 

Four O'Clocks 175 

A Wee Bit Maid 176 

Gentian 176 

Southernwood , 177 

In the Gloaming 177 

By the Ocean 178 

Gennesaret 179 

The Sermon of the Rock 180 



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Nature's Word i8i 

When the Tide Comes In i8i 

The Buckwheat's Bloom 182 

In an Old Clearing 183 

Shelter Island 184 

A Brier-Rose 185 

An Exotic 186 

Appledore 187 

After All 189 

The River of Life 190 

The Endless Procession 193 

The World of Books 195 

At Last 198 







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HEARTH AND HOME 



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The Ingle-Nook 

TILL grappling us by hooks of steel, 
How wide so e'er we roam, 
The old loves hold us, warm and 
leal, 
We*re never far from home. 

In every year, the earliest years 

Their dearest strains repeat, 
The spring-tide gleam of smiles and tears 

Arcs all our cold and heat. 

The prayer we learned in childhood's day 

Is aye our evening prayer; 
To Him Who blessed our morning way 

We take our noonday's care. 

The mother's kiss we ever keep, 

The father's steadfast look; 
Our happiest sheaf of love we reap 

Close by the ingle-nook. 

Though far we roam, our hearts abide 

Till all their tale is told. 
Hard by the beaten highway side 

Where stands the old home fold. 
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Silent Friends 

WARE I am in quiet hours 

Of dear ones whom I cannot see ; 
They come when weariness is mine, 
And strengthen me. 

The low mood presses me with pain ; 

I grieve, and am dissatisfied; 
When swift an angel ministrant 

Is by my side. 

As if a tender hand were laid 
In soothing on the aching place, 

I feel relief and rise restored. 
Yet see no face. 

As if a heavenly strain should smite 
Earth's discords, blending them, in tone. 

The harsh notes cease, the music wakes. 
Yet sound is none. 

But rifting folds of gathering gloom 
Is radiance of the evening star; 

And some have found the way to me 
Through gates ajar. 

12 





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A Gey Auld Wife 

LITTLE old woman with soundless 
shoon 
And a heart as hard as flint ; 
In the light of the sun and the glint of the moon 
Her locks are white as lint. 

She mocketh youth and she flouteth love, 

For a gey auld wife is she, 
And the sands beneath and the stars above 

Were new in her memory. 

She touches the rose and it falls apart. 

The stone and it crumbles away, 
But never a tear to her eye shall start. 

This spirit of yesterday. 

For this little old woman the Sphinx beheld 
When the dawn of the world was bright, 

This little old woman, who came from eld. 
Ere the Lord made day and night. 

She creepeth about in her soundless shoon, 

She singeth a dreary rhyme. 
And the nations drowse to her eerie rune, 

For the gey auld wife is Time. 

13 



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The Average Man 

HEN it comes to a question of trust- 
ing 
Yourself to the risks of the road. 
When the thing is the sharing of burdens, 

The lifting the heft of a load. 
In the hour of peril or trial, 

In the hour you meet as you can. 
You may safely depend on the wisdom 
And skill of the average man. 

'Tis the average man and no other 

Who does his plain duty each day, 
The small thing his wage is for doing, 

On the commonplace bit of the way. 
'Tis the average man, may God bless him. 

Who pilots us, still in the van. 
Over land, over sea, as we travel. 

Just the plain, hardy, average man. 

So on through the days of existence. 
All mingling in shadow and shine. 

We may count on the every-day hero. 
Whom haply the gods may divine, 

14 






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But who wears the swart grime of his calling, 

And labors and earns as he can, 
And stands at the last with the noblest, 

The commonplace average man. 

My Little Sweetheart 

'*VE a loyal little sweetheart; though 
the world should turn from me, 
She would only cling the closer, and 
my happy comrade be. 

When I face the world's rough weather, I am 

sure of a retreat 
By my own bright chimney-corner with my 

darling at my feet. 

Lifting up her pure white blossom of a child's 

unclouded face. 
Lighting with her blue eyes shining every hard 

and lonely place. 

I've a loyal little sweetheart, and her years that 

count but three 
Are worth more than gems and gold, for this 

true heart believes in me. 
15 



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The Joy of Coming Home 

^^^^ HERE'S joy in sailing outward, 
W^^Kj Though we leave upon the pier, 
With faces grieved and wistful, 

Our very dearest dear; 
Though the sea shall roll between us 

For perhaps a whole round year. 

There's joy in climbing mountains, 

In fording rushing brooks. 
In peering into places 

We've read about in books. 
In meeting stranger people 

With unfamiliar looks. 

But the joy of joys is ours 

Untouched by any pain, 
When we take the home-bound steamer 

And catch the home-bound train ; 
There's nothing half so pleasant 

As coming home again. 



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My Friend 

jaUNGER that ached and famine that 

craved ; 
Courage the face of the foe that 

braved ; 
Sorrow that fainted, and shame that blushed; 
Silence the bitter complaint that hushed — 
What do they matter? The world goes by. 
We still have each other, my friend and I. 
We yet have each other, on sea or shore. 
Can mortal desire a joy the more? 



Impotent 

These things, too mighty for man they be : 
The unleashed flame, and the unchained sea ; 
The furious wind that masterless flies, 
And the mocking light of rainless skies. 
O pale horse, stalking far abroad. 
Teach man the little, to call on God. 



17 







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When Sorrow Came 

HEN Sorrow came, I did not look 

For any visitor that day, 
But in beside the ingle nook 
She slipped in calm, familiar way, 
As one, a dear and privileged guest, 

Who pushes wide a door ajar, 
And, seeking only friendly rest, 
Sits down where all the kindred are. 

And first surprised, I scarcely knew 

A word to greet the stranger face ; 
There crept a numbing shadow through 

The brightness of my dwelling place. 
So dumb her lips, so veiled her eyes. 

So chill the hand in mine she laid. 
The sunshine vanished from the skies, 

And in the cloud I knelt, afraid. 



But Sorrow stayed, until I heard 

In that hushed silence round her drawn. 

Voices more sweet than song of bird. 
The tender tones of loved ones gone. 

18 



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And floating from the silvern shore. 
Whereon the ransomed walk serene, 

Came wafts of fragrance blown before 
The angels as they hither lean. 

Then, swift transfigured, Sorrow turned; 

Her look was wonderful to see. 
My very soul within me burned. 

For Love in sorrow died for me. 
And Love appoints my sorrow still. 

And sacramental cups are poured 
Where I and Sorrow, if God will. 

Meet and hold tryst with my dear Lord. 

Faith 

God knows, not I, the reason why 

His winds of storm drive through my door; 
I am content to live or die 

Just knowing this, nor knowing more. 
My Father's hand appointing me 
My days and ways, so I am free. 

19 






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Early Sabbath Morning 



V\^|^/ N dear old days up country, 
^IKs Before I went from home. 
Oh, very sweet and saintly 

Did the Sabbath morning come, 
With footsteps hushed and quiet, 

Whatever breeze might blow; 
And I'd hear father singing 

As he walked to and fro. 



The fragment of a hymn-tune 

In tender lilting air 
Would early as the dawn-light 

Come floating up the stair. 
Now martial and triumphant. 

Now soft and sighing low. 
But I'd know 'twas father singing 

As he walked to and fro. 



And in the darkened parlor. 
Where he had knelt to pray. 

And crave for us a blessing 
At the very break of day. 



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I*d hear his dear voice lifted 
From his pure heart aglow, 

And it hallowed Sabbath morning, 
As he walked to and fro. 

Long years have passed since father 

Sang in those quiet hours; 
He's found the happy country 

And the fields of fadeless flowers, 
But still on Sabbath mornings, 

I wake, and soft and low, 
I yet can hear him singing 

As he walks to and fro. 

Little Sister 

Of mother's brood, but one 
May stand before the Throne 
With sweet child looks unworn 
As pure as babe new born; 
The little one who went to God 
Ere earthly streets her steps had trod. 

21 



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The Absent Boy 

HEY miss him in the orchard where the 
fruit is sunning over, 
And in the meadow where the air is 
sweet with new-mown hay, 
And all about the old farm which knew him 
for a lover. 
From the early seedtime onward till the 
crops were stored away. 

They miss him in the village where nothing 
went without him. 
Where to-day the young folks' parties are 
dull and incomplete. 
They cannot just explain it, there was such 
a charm about him. 
The drop of cheer he always brought made 
common daylight sweet. 



And now he's gone to Cuba, he's fighting for 
the nation. 
He's charging with the others, a lad in army 
blue, 

22 




His name is little known yet, but there's an 
upland station, 
Where all are sure you'll hear it before the 
war is through. 



And when you talk of battles, and scan the 
printed column, 
His regiment's the one they seek, his neigh- 
bors think and care ; 
The more they do not speak of it, their look 
grows grave and solemn, 
For somewhere in the thick of strife, they 
know, their boy is there. 



Beloved — A Secret 



You and I, Darling, just you and I! 
Never weary of each other, under any sky ; 
You and I, beloved, only, and we're never dull 

or lonely. 
As we talk, or we are silent, and the day goes 

drifting by, 

23 





The Price We Pay 

REEDOM ever was dearly bought 

By gold and silver and lives of men. 
In travail of soul her gifts are sought, 
In perilous marches by moor and fen, 
By desolate reaches of lonely years, 
By the slow, salt droppings of widows' tears. 

Ever for freedom the price is great, 
And paid must be to the utmost coin. 

Who serves at her altars serves the state 
With beat of heart and with ache of loin — 

Nay, and at need to make men free 
Are men bond-slaves for liberty! 

Yet who would hold his dearest back 
And who would count his loss but gain 

When, conquering, white on her upward track, 
Stern freedom comes to break the chain. 

To fight earth's darkness, to light earth's gloom. 

To make earth's desert places bloom? 



24 



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In cold and nakedness and thirst, 

In heat and fever and wounds and strife, 

We bid her foemen do their worst. 
For freedom is heaven ; freedom, life ; 

Whatever the price, that price we'll pay. 

And God be thanked for the dawn of day! 



To You and Me 

HIS is to you as any other day? 

Rose dawn, white noon, and evening 
lit with stars. 
And in high heaven a glimpse of golden bars. 
Let down for those who shall go home that way. 



To me this is a day so set apart 

By memory and sorrow that I sit 

With eyes that brim at the mere thought of it, 
And all the loneliness it brought my heart. 



25 




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After Long' Years 



10 A R, wfiom 1 woiilil iu>l know 

It I p.isscd yon on the street, 
So louj; And lon«; a\\o 
Ate the il.iys when we used to meet. 




Yi>ii may l>c f^^^d to hear 

That somewhere out ol the hhie 
Come va^ue sweet lireams that bring you near, 

That 1 often think o( you. 

Tliat now and then I thrill 

At a rustle in the dark; 
That 1 statt as the wiuil sweeps over the hill. 

As 1 see the tire-Uy's spark. 

Son\ebody stepped on my ^ravc? 

Or somebody slipped out ot yours? 
I cannot tell! There are t;hosts that crave 

A bit ot the love that endures. 



16 



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The Wizard Love 




|OVE stooped to one who captive lay, 
Fettered and prone, and broke the 
bars. 

And led him to the dawning day, 
The waning stars. 



Love found upon the battle's edge 
A coward fleeing from the strife. 

And sent him back, his heart in pledge. 
Valiant through life. 

Love touched dumb lips that could not pray, 
And lo ! they uttered prayer and song. 

Love hath so subtle, sweet a way. 
Love is so strong. 

That come he with an angel's face, 
Or come he with a flaming sword. 

With whom he makes his dwelling-place 
Is heaven poured. 



27 



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The Heroine 

jER raiment changes with the fleeting 
fashions 
Of years that pass, but she abides in 
sooth 
Unchanged, the star and shrine of human pas- 
sions. 
Or wise and old, or sweet in flowerlike youth. 

Naomi she, the veiled and bent with sorrows, 
Or clear-eyed Ruth, or Dido famed and fair, 

Helen the beautiful, of dim to-morrows. 
Or sad Elaine, slain by her love's despair. 

She trails her soundless garments down the 
ages, 
A vision and a dream, or rustling steals 
Past trembling arras in those haunted pages 
Where man forever strives and woman 
kneels. 

Our modern books and pictures often show her 
Serene and college-bred and trimly gowned, 

But able yet to make for all who know her 
This queer old world one vast enchanted 
ground. 

28 



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To bind and loose, this still remains her mission, 
To loose and bind — whatever be her name, 

Her date, from Homer down, or her condition. 
The heroine herself abides the same. 



An Experience 

NE came and told me suddenly, 
" Your friend is dead ! Last year 
she went ; " 
But many years my friend had spent 
In life's wide wastes, apart from me. 

And lately I had felt her near. 
And walked as if by soft winds fanned. 

Had felt the touching of her hand. 
Had known she held me close and dear. 



And swift I learned that being dead 
Meant rather being free to live. 

And free to seek me, free to give. 
And so my heart was comforted. 
29 



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A Little Vagabond 



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OW who may this be? " I ques- 
tioned, 
As the door was pushed ajar. 
And a wee bit laddie entered, 
With a face as bright as a star. 



He doffed his hat till its feather 
Swept down to the very floor. 

And he laughed, as I crossly bade him 
Make haste and shut the door. 

" Oh ! I always leave it open 
The least little crack," he said, 

With a touch of his hand on my shoulder 
And a toss of his curly head. 

" For though I am swift in coming, 

I am sometimes swift to go ; 
As light as an airy bubble 

I am floating to and fro. 



30 



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" For I am a vagabond, lady, 
And you surely know my name, 

In golden letters, Cupid 

Is writ on the scroll of Fame. 

" And here I bow, dear lady. 
And prithee, take for mine 

The heart I haste to offer. 
And be my valentine." 

A vagabond lover, surely. 

For the wind blew fast the door ; 
And nothing was left of Cupid 

But his shadow on the floor. 



Sunrise 

Though the midnight found us weary, 
The morning brings us cheer; 

Thank God for every sunrise 
In the circuit of the year. 



31 



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On Christmas Eve 




ilJ ELL, wife, we are here at Joey's, and 
I'm bound to admit it's fine, 
With the cyarpets an' the cyurtains, 
an' the fol-de-rols about. 
And Joey's wife is a lady, as I've always said is 
mine, 
But, if 'twan't for Christmas comin', why you 
and I'd lit out. 



Fact is, I'm not at home, dear, with such tom- 
foolish style, 
Hull shops o' silver-ware displayed on the 
table every day. 
And a waiter that creeps behind you soft, an* 
never cracks a smile, 
But looks as solemn as Parson Brown, no 
matter what folks say. 



Joey, he's made his pile, dear, and Joey, he's 
made his mark, 
He's keen and smart and clever; I'm not 
ashamed of Joe. 

32 



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But here, as we sit together, just you and I 
and the dark. 
My thoughts will keep a-strayin' to the days 
of long ago. 

You've not forgotten it, Nancy, that winter of 

'65, 

And our cabin under the mountain, and the 

long war over at last ; 
And you and I so happy, we two, to be safe and 

alive, 
Joy and gladness before us, partin' and suf- 

ferin' past. 

And Joey, rosy and dimpled, and climbin' into 
the bed, 
The crib too small to suit him, an' didn't he 
shout and sing ! 
All the gold we had, wife, was the gold on our 
baby's head, 
And the slender thread of gold, dear, that 
shone in your wedding ring. 

And, came the bitter nights, dear, I wrapped 
him close and warm, 
3 33 







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In my old blue army coat, wife, that hugged 

him to its breast ; 
Many a time I'd worn it, on picket, out in the 

storm, 
But it made my boy a shelter, cosey and snug 

as a nest. 

We never had money to spend, dear, except in 
nickels and dimes. 
Money came slow, and careful; careful we 
watched it go ; 
But Christmas for Joey brought us the best of 
all the good times. 
With his stocking hung in the chimney, 
a-bulgin' from top to toe. 



You know the truck we skimped for, an' the 
things we did without. 
That the boy should have the playthings, 
what not, and the picture-books; 
He lotted the most on books, dear, and there 
wasn't a lad about 
Could touch our lad on fractions from the 
day he made pot-hooks. 

34 



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T~^ 




AND 



Then the years went by on skates, wife, the 
way our young years do, 
Joey was big and bearded, Joey was out of 
our sight, 
Joey belonged to the world, dear, first thing 
the old folks knew, 
And we were alone in the world, dear, while 
slowly our heads grew white. 



He's been a good son to us, there is no denying 
that. 
And he's often wanted us Christmas ; but we 
were too shy to stay 
In his big fine Avenue house, dear, and I tell 
you I'd give my hat 
To be out of it now, my Nancy, and at home 
in the plain old way. 



ik 



If Joey had chick or child, dear, a baby to 
prattle and cry. 
We'd both be more at home here; what's 
Christmas without a child? 



35 






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p" - - ,.<-.;/,■,;■( !i ,'"'v" V"*v \,i!:!(:K 



And Joey's wife is a lady, and I sometimes 
wonder why 
The lonesome look in her face, dear, is never 
quite beguiled 

By the splendor and the show, dear, the rich 
fine life she lives 
In this big place, so dreary; not like that 
cabin of ours. 
When hand in hand we worked, dear, and the 
honest joy work gives 
Sprang up in our humble path, wife, in dear 
old-fashioned flowers. 



In Grandmother's Corner 

In grandmother's corner the sunshine stays 
Golden and bright in the gloomiest days. 
In grandmother's sweet benignant face 
There's a lightsome look for the loneliest 

place. 
And I think the flowers are glad to bloom 
In one dear little window of grandmother's 

room. 

36 



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Indoors at Night 



^^ EEN and cold is the wintry blast 



m 



As the sleet and snow go driving past ; 

There's a strife in the old trees racked 
and bent, 
The clouds hang low o'er the firmament, 
But the household gathers safe and warm. 
Folded close from the freezing storm; 
The lamp is lighted, the hearth is bright. 
And the dear ones are cozy indoors at night. 



And when shutters are closed and curtains 

drawn. 
And the toiling hours of the day are gone. 
Sweet words are spoken, good-nights are said 
To the wee ones tucked in the little bed, 
(God's grace watch over each curly head!) 
Then with book and talk and on the tongue 
The song we've loved since we were young. 
We fill the hours with love's delight. 
Cozy and happy indoors at night. 

37 



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;J>^vr»ili 




Our Flag 

HANDFUL stood beneath the flag' 
When first its colors cleft the air; 
And sturdily they held it up, 
And stubbornly they held it where 
Against the little nation came 
The children of an older fame. 




To-day the thronging millions troop 

Where floats that standard in their view; 

And far and wide they roam, who love 
Its gallant red and white and blue. 

And if beneath an alien sky 

They catch its gleam, their hearts reply. 



It waves from village spire and roof. 
It flutters from the school-house peak; 

The little ones of many lands 

Beneath its folds, one language speak, 

And evermore its clustered stars 

Are pledge of broken prison bars. 

38 



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Oh, flag beloved, forever dear! 

Oh, flag unstained by sordid deeds! 
Wide spread thy folds and gather safe 

The men of various warring creeds, 
Of diverse race, of separate blood. 
To thee who crowd o'er field and flood. 



Thine be the symbol of a love 
As wide as man, as deep as God. 

Thine be the tenderness and strength 
To bless the new world's virgin sod; 

And ours, dear flag, the joy to stand 

Beneath thee, loyal to our land. 



Courage 

True courage may not waver 

Though the cheek is blanched and pale. 
Above the faltering heart-beat 

It cries. We shall not fail ! 
Around the trembling impulse 

It folds a coat of mail. 

39 



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A Wedding 




HEN Phyllis weds with Cleon, the 
village folk are gay, 
And up the street and down again 
we all keep holiday. 
We leave the shop and leave the house, to 

church with her we go. 
For Phyllis is our dearest dear, beloved of high 

and low. 
From sunbonnet to wedding-veil the prettiest 

maid in town, 
And all the town must praise her, in her fleece- 
white wedding-gown. 



When Phyllis weds with Cleon, the organ 

softly blends 
Its mellow, muffled music with the thoughts of 

all her friends. 
The children scatter flowers, and the flowers are 

everywhere — 
On chancel-rail, on desk, on font, and on the 

pulpit-stair ; 

40 



Her blossom-face will match their bloom, so 

sweet a flower is she, 
Our little village maid who wears her beauty 

royally. 



When Phyllis weds with Cleon, my lady to my 

lord 
Comes very grave and modestly and of her own 

accord. 
Her mother walks in queenly state, the bride 

looks meekly down, 
Her violet eyes just scan the hem of her fair 

broidcred gown. 
Her father gives the bride away, yet fain would 

keep her, too; 
His idol since her tiny foot first stepped in 

satin shoe. 



The sacred vows are pledged, the rite is o*er, 

two lives are one ; 
The golden years stretch onward hence, what 

reck they, shade or sun, 

41 




These happy hearts — God keep them, and grant 

that from this hour 
No evil thing or deadly may on their lives have 

power. 

For youth is youth, and love is love, and like 

with like must wed ; 
And Cleon wins his Phyllis still, and shall till 

Time has sped; 
And heaven bless the leal and true, and grant 

to love its own. 
And ever happy keep the bride on whom the 

sun hath shone. 



At the Front 

OT the soldiers only are at the front 
to-day, 
Not alone the boys in blue who face 
the stubborn foe. 
In the tent and in the charge and on the weary 
way 
There are unseen sentinels who watch with 
eyes aglow. 

42 




■•\i)i yy M////h ik i 




Mothers who have sent their sons to battle for 
the right, 
Wives and sweethearts, all day long, whose 
throbbing hearts are there, 
A host of loyal loving ones who help the gal- 
lant fight 
By beating at the throne of God with never 
ceasing prayer. 

These may not thread the jungle nor storm 
the frowning hill. 
They stand not in the rifle-pit, they man no 
sullen gun. 
But they are with the army and with strength 
their pulses thrill. 
And theirs will be the victor's part when 
once the strife is done. 

Standing for the old flag, standing firm for God, 
Standing for humanity, they meet the bat- 
tle's brunt. 
These women who, for heartache, scarce can 
see the path they've trod 
Since they kissed the lads they love so dear 
and sent them to the front. 
43 




Never More 



^ag^j ARTH, knowing not eld, in thy youth 
7^^^ all divine, 

Though the ages unceasing are ever- 
more thine. 
Once more be birth-thrilled, until forth from 

thy vi^omb 
Throng the myriad forms of the world^s wak- 
ing bloom. 



For the sweet o' the year, great Earth-mother, 

is here. 
And lo ! on the uplands the flowers appear, 
And blithe is the wing, and the song it is glad, 
And our yearning hearts only are heavy and 

sad. 



Earth, mother undying, thy tender arms keep 
So safe in thy bosom the dear things asleep. 
So strong is thy pulse-beat to bid them again 
Know battle and conquest, and hunger and 
pain. 

44 



The insistence of growth, the fair crown of 

the leaf, 
The fruit in its ripeness, the rich bending 

sheaf — 
Earth, this thou canst do, yet our dearer loves 

And return not again from their beds hollowed 
low. 



Our hearts are nigh breaking with bliss and 

with dole; 
In the midst of the rapture, how lonely the 

soul! 
Comes the bird to the green bough, the bud 

to the tree. 
But not from the darkness my darlings to me. 



Embers 

One remembers in the embers 

How the red flame's heart would glow, 
In those golden-crowned Decembers 

Of the merry long ago. 

45 



C^cr^ 


-in- 




A Finished Page 

^HEN the last word is written, 
And the final word is said; 
When the last pang is over, 
And you sit beside the dead. 
With your heart dumb and smitten. 
As you watch by her bed; 

You'd give the whole world, then, 

For just one chance more 
To say " Dear, I love you " ; 

To tell her o'er and o'er 
That her look was a blessing 

When she stood by the door. 

That you never meant to hurt her; 

That deep down in your soul 
There was truth to her, turning 

As the needle to the pole; 
That without her, life was empty, 

And with her, it was whole. 



46 



n 



h 



But you let the days drift onward, 
Till there came the last day; 

And she was called to Heaven, 
And you had here to stay ; 

And you're wrapt in numb silence; 
For there's naught left to say. 



Since the final word is written. 
And the final word is said, 

And you're sitting, dumb and smitten. 
Close by your darling's bed, 

And your darling lies there sleeping — 
Fast asleep : for she is dead. 



Yet, it may be that she's nearer 
Than she ever was before; 

That her white robe trails along the 
Darkness of the shadowy floor ; 

That her swift forgiveness waits you, 
Just beyond death's iron door. 



47 



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OF 



When Daddy Lights the Tree 




/J E have our share of ups and downs, 
Our cares like other folk; 
The pocketbook is sometimes full, 
We're sometimes well nigh broke ; 
But once a year, at Christmas-time, 

Our hearth is bright to see; 
The baby's hand just touches heaven 
When Daddy lights the tree. 

For weeks and weeks the little ones 

Have lotted on this hour; 
And mother, she has planned for it 

Since summer's sun and shower. 
With here a nickel, there a dime. 

Put by where none should see, 
A loving hoard against the night 

When Daddy lights the tree. 

The tiny tapers glow like stars; 

They mind us of the flame 
That rifted once the steel-blue sky 

The morn the Christ-child came; 
48 



-~J\i^S r nl.^W ' >-rv :i'^:-:^'W r'-""^-^S?' 



The blessed angels sang to earth 
Above that far countree — 

We think they sing above our hearth 
When Daddy lights the tree. 



The weest kid in mother's arms 

Laughs out and claps her hands, 
The rest of us on tiptoe wait; 

The grown-up brother stands 
Where he can reach the topmost branch, 

Our Santa Claus to be, 
In that sweet hour of breathless joy 

When Daddy lights the tree. 



Our grandpa says 'twas just as fine 

In days when he was young; 
For every Christmas ages through 

The happy bells have rung. 
And Daddy's head is growing gray. 

But yet a boy is he. 
As merry as the rest of us 

When Daddy lights the tree. 
4 49 



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'Tis Love that makes the world go round, 

'Tis Love that lightens toil, 
'Tis Love that lays up treasure which 

Nor moth nor rust can spoil; 
And Love is in our humble home. 

In largesse full and free. 
We all are very close to heaven 

When Daddy lights the tree. 

We pray that little orphaned ones 

May have some share of bliss. 
Nor when the Yule-tide fires burn 

Their bit of gladness miss; 
From our rich store we're fain to send 

Where'er such children be 
A present as from friend to friend 

When Daddy lights the tree. 

In the Rain 

Steadily the rain is falling. 
In the sky no blue appears ; 

But the sun is just behind the 
Prism of those crystal tears. 
50 




To a Little Maiden 



ITTLE maiden Marguerite, 
]] Very fair from head to feet, 



Do you wish the birthdays came 
Twice a year, to crown your name? 

Do you think the years are long 
While the many lessons throng? 

I have learned to count the days, 
Not by meed of blame or praise; 

Not by pleasant gift or grace 
Shining in a birthday's face; 

But by little duties done 
Patiently, and one by one. 

Patiently, from sun to sun, 
Little bits of task-work done. 

So must you, my Marguerite, 
Golden head, and dancing feet. 

51 



}( 




Immortal 

NCE we have loved we never lose. 
That is not love which can forget ; 
Through loss and loneliness and 
grief 
This gem is as its coronet. 
That true love never can forget. 

That is not faith which drops its hold. 

Once we have trusted, in our clasp 
Forever lies life's changeless gold. 

Nor withers in our loosened grasp ; 

True faith through all time keeps its clasp. 

Once we have loved we cannot lose. 
Who loves must trust and cannot choose. 

The Returning 

HEY march behind their tattered 
flag. 
Our very heart it charms, 
But spent and slow their footsteps lag, 
The weary men-at-arms. 
52 




1 



With gallant haste they Btormed the hill, 

And dared the deadly fray; 
They had no lack of nerve or will 

In battle's fearful day. 

Though bullets swept their thinning ranks, 
They did not pale v/ith dread. 

To-day they snnile and utter thanks 
Above that roll of dead. 

A subtler foe, a v/ilier craft, 

Has mowed them since the fight; 

A bitter cup their lips have quaffed — 
Fever, and cold, and fright, 

And famine, ghastly enemies. 
Have had them for their prey. 

Well may they lag behind the flag, 
Our men-at-arms this day. 

And home returned, the brilliant skies 

Grow dark to us who see, 
Through tears that blur our pitying eyes, 

How cruel war can be. 
53 



» ll». l _)yl 



The Little Waves 




HE little waves are feathering and rip- 
pling from the oar, 
Our boat is gliding fast away from 
yonder curving shore; 
The great waves call the little waves, but far 

their booming cry, 
And there is nought to break the peace of tran- 
quil lake and sky. 

Yet kin is every tiny wave, with those vast seas 
that gird 

The globe in bonds of loneliness, that know 
not leaf or bird. 

And every rainbov/ drop belongs to that tre- 
mendous tide 

Which sends its outmost billows forth upon 
earth's farthest side. 

And every wave that seeks the shore, helps 

light some household lamp ; 
The ocean and the land are wed; the stars 

above encamp 

54 









And watch them both, and evermore God sets 

them mete and bound; 
His are the watery wastes and His the firm and 

solid ground. 



Midnight 

>0D help the homeless ones who lack 
this night 
A roof for shelter and a couch for 
sleep ; 
God help the sailormen who long for light 
As restlessly they toss upon the deep. 

God keep the orphaned children who are left 
Unmothered in this world of chill and dole; 

God keep the widowed hearts, of joy bereft ; 
God make all weary broken spirits whole. 

Dark broods the midnight over sea and land, 
No star illumes the blackness of the sky. 

But safe as nested birds within Thy hand, 
Gpd of our fathers, we Thy children lie. 

55 




JT 



|cb:.:Avv^^V^ 




Holy Days and Happy Days 

lARKED with a white stone 
WA Days of joy and brightness! 
Hours that went with dancing 
feet 
Like tripping tunes for lightness. 
Days that wear the bloom of May 

And waft the sweet of roses ; 
Even when they've lost themselves 
In mists the past encloses. 

One, the day that dawned in grace 

And set in shining splendor, 
The day the maiden gave herself 

In love's benign surrender, 
To him who won her girlish troth, 

Fulfilled her fair ideal, 
And pledged himself to make for her 

The loveliest dreams come real. 

Another, silver sweet with bells 
That chime for very gladness; 

No room in this clear wedding peal 
For trembling note of sadness. 

56 



To-day, let wan care hide hi:i brov/ 

And grief for now be idle, 
Since only white-robed bliss attends the 

Maiden at her bridal. 



Oh, holiest, purest day of all 

When from the gulf of anguish, 
When life itself had seemed to ebb, 

The mother-life to languish, 
The pearl of the new life was snatched. 

The baby lay beside her, 
And unseen angels bending near, sang 

Softly, Heaven betide her! 



Not these alone, the holiest days! 

Some days we keep in stillness 
And thankfulness for grace that gave 

The thrill of health, for illness; 
Days when we proved that human love 

Is never doled by measure. 
And so to gauge the Love Divine, 

Could wait the Lord's good pleasure. 
57 






■'^rm 



■■■^.'ti. ^ ■«• -y- 



Then, too, are days that saw us helped 

To triumph o'er temptation, 
When through resistance came to us 

A new and great salvation. 
Our holy days, our happy days. 

In God's book they are shining; 
The very darkest of them all, 

God gave a silver lining. 



As Women Know 



I^^OVE may be joy unspeakable, and love 
May be a woe too deep for moans 
and tears; 



a 



Love may be chrism of blessing poured above 

The quiet days of uneventful years. 
And love may sometimes be, just patience, 

spent 
In trying how to find and keep content. 
Whate'er it be, true love is crown or cross. 
Infinite gain, or woe of bitterest loss. 



58 




In the Attic 

jOW, climb the attic stairs with me; 
In dim mysterious places 
You'll find a heap of things to see: 
Old baubles, yellow laces, 
And faded flowers that memory 
Cam match with faded faces. 

Old letters, brown and ribbon-tied, 

Which once were thrilled with passion 

That stilted phrases could not hide. 
Though couched in formal fashion. 

One vaguely feels a rock of pride 
For those great waves to dash on. 

And here are dainty satin shoes 

That used to tread a measure 
So gaily, ere time made them lose 

The trick of careless pleasure. 
Poor little lonesome satin shoes! 

The attic's saddest treasure. 



59 










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Norah 

T was from green old Ireland that 
Norah sailed away; 
" May all the saints be good to her," 
the mother wept and prayed; 
The kind priest blessed her as she went that 
weary cauld-rift day, 
And little Norah on the ship was not a bit 
afraid. 

And far across the rounding waves, that lifted 
mountains high, 
The fearless little stranger came, and naught 
did her betide; 
For God can guard His trusting ones, since God 
is in the sky. 
And God is always in the world, though it be 
wondrous wide. 

The lass that barefoot ran the fields and heaped 
the fire of peat, 
Wears shoes upon her now, and steps around 
a stranger's hearth; 

60 



*!:'61ljf|(^ 






«^ 



Her rosy face is paler, but her look is true and 
sweet. 
And in her laugh there lingers yet green 
Erin's bubbling mirth. 



She saves her wages, bless her, and sends them 
o'er the sea; 
Till one by one, she brings them here, the 
brothers strong and tall ; 
She'll coax the dear old mother yet to cross the 
same rough sea. 
With darling baby Bridget's head out peep- 
ing from her shawl. 



With father here and mother, and the house- 
hold band complete 
Brave Norah will be happy, nor mourn for 
Erin's green. 
She has a soldier's courage though her modest 
face is sweet 
With something of the innocence in little 
children seen. 

6i 



For the good priest's blessing follows her, and 
wheresoe'er she treads 
The saints preserve her, this I know, and 
when she tells her beads, 
Though she calls upon the angels, with their 
bowing flame-like heads, 
'Tis Mary's Son who hears her prayers, and 
gives her what she needs. 




Now and Then 

HERE were hours when Iffe was 
bitter 
With the anguish of defeat, 
When strange it seemed that anything 

Had ever tasted sweet. 
And we scarce knew how to bear it, 

But One came o'er the wave. 
And the peace He gave us with a word 
Then made us strong and brave. 
62 



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ZZ.^ a^.. 



There are hours when work is pressing, 

Just little homely work 
That must be done, that we must do. 

That it were shame to shirk, 
And in those hours full often. 

To crown the petty cares, 
Has fallen upon the house a gleam 

Of God's Heaven unawares. 

So, for our hallowed hours 

We find them, where our Lord 
Has called us into service meet 

For blessing and reward; 
They are sometimes in the closet, 

They are often in the mart. 
And the Lord can make them anywhere, 

His " desert place apart." 



Peace 

" My peace," the peace of the Lord Most High, 
The peace of the Master passing by. 
Be this in our home, by night, by day, 
Be this our joy if we go or stay. 

63 



'^S.orJ 




If Christ Were Here To-night 

'F Christ were here to-night, and saw me 
tired, 
And half afraid another step to take, 
I think He'd know the thing my heart desired, 
And ease that heart of all its throbbing ache. 

If Christ were here in this dull room of mine, 
That gathers up so many shadows dim, 

I am quite sure its narrow space would shine. 
And kindle into glory around Him. 



If Christ were here, I might not pray so long; 

My prayer would have such little way to go ; 
'Twould break into a burst of happy song, 

So would my joy and gladness overflow. 



If Christ were here to-night, I'd touch the hem 
Of his fair, seamless robe, and stand complete 

In wholeness and in whiteness ; I, who stem 
Such waves of pain, to kneel at His dear feet. 

64 








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■>•■;'. 













If Christ were here to-night, I'd tell Him all 
The load I carry for the ones I love — 

The blinded ones, who grope and faint and fall, 
Following false guides, nor seeking Christ 
above. 

If Christ were here! Ah, faithless soul and 
weak. 
Is not the Master ever close to thee? 
Deaf is thine ear, that canst not hear Him 
speak ; 
Dim is thine eye. His face that cannot see. 

Thy Christ is here, and never far away ; 

He entered with thee when thou camest in ; 
His strength was thine through all the busy 
day; 
He knew thy need, He kept thee pure from 
sin. 

Thy blessed Christ is in thy little room, 

Nay more, the Christ Himself is in thy heart ; 

Fear not, the dawn will scatter darkest gloom, 
And heaven will be of thy rich life a part. 

65 



YR! 



""TT 




If the Lord Should Come 

'F the Lord should come in the morning 
As I went about my work, 
The little things and the quiet things 
That a servant cannot shirk, 
Though nobody ever sees them. 
And only the dear Lord cares 
That they always are done in the light of the 
sun, 
Would he take me unawares? 

If my Lord should come at noonday. 

The time of the dust and heat, 
When the glare is white and the air is still 

And the hoof-beats sound in the street; 
If my dear Lord came at noonday. 

And smiled in my tired eyes, 
Would it not be sweet his look to meet? 

Would he take me by surprise? 

If my Lord came hither at evening, 

In the fragrant dew and dusk. 
When the world drops off its mantle 

Of daylight like a husk, 

66 



And flowers in v/onderful beauty. 
And we fold our hands and rest, 

Would his touch of my hand, his low com- 
mand. 
Bring me unhoped-for zest? 



Why do I ask and question? 

He i:^ ever coming to me, 
Morning and noon and evening. 

If I have but eyes to see. 
And the daily load grows lighter. 

The daily cares grow sweet. 
For the Master is near, the Master is here, 

I have only to sit at His feet. 

The common bread grows sacred 

As the Master blesses and breaks; 
And the water I drink is hallowed wine, 

For the hand that was pierced takes. 
And gives the cup, as I journey 

Near each setting sun. 
To the home where we all are going 

Happily, one by one. 

67 



A Resurrection Song 

^^^ILL the day break, and till the shadows 

We watch and waken, Lord, we wait 
for Thee. 



The tomb is sealed, the stone is at the door, 
The agony that laid Thee there is o'er. 

Never again with linen pure and white 
Our hands shall swathe Thee in the dead of 
night. 

Never again with sweet of spice and myrrh 
To wrap Thee round our loving grief shall stir. 

The worst is done, the cross is over, now 
Thou liest kingly, with the thorn-scarred brow. 

Closer we draw, we few who yet remain. 
The dearer for our common weight of pain. 

Closer we draw and think of that strange cup 
Pressed to Thj'- lips, how Thou didst drink it up. 

6S 



Closer v/e draw; the time drags heavily, 
Lord, Thy disciples are in need of Thee. 

Lord, Thy disciples yet Thy presence crave. 
And Thou art ?>»ound and sleeping in the grave. 

Yet, till the day break and the shadows flee, 
We v/ait and v/atch and waken, wanting Thee. 

Lo! the dawn quickens in the pregnant East; 
Lo ! Thou art here, our Prophet, King, and 
Priest. 

The morning springs exultant ! Christ is risen! 
No bars for life in death's sv/ift-shattered 
prison. 

Lo ! the day breaks, the shadows f^ee away ; 
Lo ! Christ is with us, even as v/e pray. 

Lord, come, Lord Jesus ! He is with us, here, 
Forever present and forever dear. 

69 



l&'>ii jKiiii[]iiurj!iiL:ii'niij!:L,i4iijLi'!u;U:ir 



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To One Gone Home 

HE years have come, the years have 
gone, 
The quiet, softly gliding years, 
With midnight melting into dawn. 

With shimmering woof of smiles and tears, 
Since that white day the angels knew 
Was heaven's own birthday, sweet, for you ! 

The little children whom you left 

Have grown to happy-hearted youth; 

They hardly knew themselves bereft 
So sheltered close by tenderest ruth. 

When, doubly precious for your sake. 

Our hearts for them were like to break. 

I often feel that mother-watched 

Have been their footsteps on life's way ; 

That doors for them have been unlatched. 
That unseen love has been their stay. 

Though, in our Father's gracious will, 

Some other did your work fulfil. 



70 






^ 



■■pitt^UJ 



And often is it clear to me 

That here and there are not apart, 
That somehow God's whole family 

Have scarce the throbbing of one heart 
To separate them ; just a breath — 
The shadowy, thin, soft veil of death. 



Why should you not draw nigh to those 
Who love you yet, who love you dear. 

For whom your love yet means repose, 
And faith and insight swift and clear? 

You have but crossed the shining sea, 

Where all our sails shall havened be. 



To you, dear one, whose very tones 
Still vibrate in your empty room. 

To you, athwart whatever zones 

For you are bright with fadeless bloom, 

I send my whole heart's love to-day, 

The day my darling went away. 



71 



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^^^^: 



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The Star 

^NCE more it lights the midnight 
sky, 
Once more it leads the way, 
As in that time so long gone by, 
To where the Saviour lay. 

To where He lay, a little child 

Amid the fragrant hay, 
The pure, the sweet, the undefiled. 

That first fair Christmas day. 



And, bending lowly at His feet. 
There, swift to praise and pray. 

And give Him homage as was meet. 
The sages came that day. 



And lowly shepherds worshipping, 
Found out the blessed way; 

The angels told them everything. 
All in the dawning gray. 

72 



■'1- -■■' "T 



? 



.±: 5 



Great star that stood above the place 
Where fair the young child lay, 

Still guide me till I see His face, 
Still lead me in the way. 

Oh ! burning was the wilderness, 
And steep were crag and scaur, 

But for the Wise Men as they went 
The star shone bright before. 

They did not loiter in the rush 

Of early breaking dawn; 
They pressed along through day and night, 

The star yet led them on. 

Perhaps they missed the angel song 
Which simple shepherds heard — 

The ear that listens for the lambs 
And at their cry is stirred. 

May hear what sages do not heed — 

But star or song, they came, 
Where Mary held her Little One, 

Whom God Himself did name. 
73 



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The Little One, the Christ of God, 

The child who came to save 
Our race from sin and wretchedness, 

To ransom from the grave. 

Strong seraphim and cherubim 

Yet sing on Christmas day. 
For lo ! the world is glad for him. 

And men, however they stray, 

Are seeking ever for the song, 
And for the star's clear ray. 

And evermore their praises throng 
About Him, in the way. 

And old and young, and blithe and sad, 

The rich and poor to-day, 
Uplift the anthem and are glad 

Where Christ the Saviour lay. 

In this wild whirl of human life 

There are who never know 
How very close the angels come. 

Nor see the heavens glow. 
74 



,r— — -T I , J 'fr 




But ever on the Christmas morn 

The gates are swung ajar, 
And angels cry that Christ is bom, 

And out there slips the Star. 

A Day's Wage 

^OVE wore a suit of hodden gray, 
And toiled within the fields all day. 

Love wielded pick and carried pack 
And bent to heavy loads the back. 

Though meagre fed and sorely lashed. 
The only wage Love ever asked, 

A child's wan face to kiss at night, 
A woman's smile by candle light. 

I Stand at the Door 

Open to me, my beloved, 

I stand at the door and knock; 

It is thou that dost keep me waiting. 
And thy coldness turns the lock. 

75 



j«=i K 



X 



Much Ado 






the stern presence of the greater trial, 
Who taketh thought for some small 
self-denial? 

When brooding clouds the precious home in- 
vest, 
Who grieveth for some trivial unrest? 



We are " too ready with our discontent," 

Too soon our store of quietness is spent. 

We might win flowers where gathering thorns 

and rue, 
We, who o'er trifles make so much ado. 



Stronger are they who wear as coat of mail 
The shield of faith, which vainly fears assail. 
Wiser are they who lift their eyes in prayer. 
And win the help that lightens daily care. 



^6 



Te Deum Laudamus 

^^sraOR strength to meet Apollyon, 

^l^lli ^"^ ^° ^^^^ ^^"^ back; 
For help in unseen perils 

That thronged about our track; 
For goodness never-ceasing, 

For mercies ever new, 
For the rainfall and the sunshine, 

The starbeam and the dew, 

We give Thee thanks, O Lord. 



For friends who stand around us, 

For little children's love ; 
For the faith that never falters 

In our best of Friends above ; 
For freedom in our borders. 

For Thy word as free as air. 
For many a blessing sent us, 

For many an answered prayer, 
We give Thee thanks, O Lord. 



77 



The Wrong Turning 

If, where the two roads met, 

If there, that far-off day 
Which never can our hearts forget, 

We'd turned the other way; 
If — sometimes of all words this seems 

The saddest word to say! 




A Thought 

E Who died on Calvary, 

Died to ransom you and me. 



On the cross He bowed His head. 
In the grave He made His bed. 

Ever since, the lilies bloom 
Round the portal of the tomb. 

Ever since, o'er all our loss 
Shines the glory of the cross. 

73 



When First She Heard 

r^^YVHEN first she heard one say, 
/\ 'V^* '/ Unconscious of the dart, 

V^\^^ " She's growing old, she's had 
her day," 
There fell upon her heart 
A weight as if of molten lead; 
The tears were quick to start. 

For though the thick brown hair 
Was thin and touched v/ith frost, 

And though the cheek so fair 
Had dimpled roundness lost. 

Yet was the lady unav/are 

Of youth's bright border crost. 

Her spirit felt so young. 

Still dwelt such roseate grace 

As evermore have poets sung 
Within her dwelling place ; 

And little children round her clung 
And loved her gentle face. 

" Not old," in swift protest 
She cried, then laughed to hear 
79 



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A tender soul anear, that guessed 
Her pain, and soothed her fear: 

" You may be old, but you are best 
To me, and dearest, dear. 

" By all the happy days. 
By all the sorrows shared; 

By all the steep and stony ways. 
By all the truths declared, 

The years that find us friend to friend 
Not one could we have spared." 

Ah! lads and lasses, slow 
To dream the harm ye do. 

This in your heedless hours, know 
That women ever rue 

The passing of the noon-tide glow. 
The fading of the dew. 

And speak it under breath. 

That first keen thrusting word, 

Which falls as chill as coming death. 
Resented, swift as heard; — 

Let folk grow old, not knowing it, 
Their joy of life unstirred, 
80 







One of These Days 

NE of these days they will all be over — 
Sorrow and laughter, loss and gain, 
Meetings and partings of friend and 
lover, 
Joy that was often tinged with pain. 



One of these days shall our hands be folded, 
One of these days will the work be done ; 

Finished the pattern our lives have molded. 
Ended our labor beneath the sun. 



One of these days shall the heartache leave us, 
One of these days will the burden drop ; 

Never again shall a hope deceive us, 
Never again shall our progress stop. 

Freed from the blight of the vain endeavor. 
Winged with the health of immortal life. 

One of these days shall we quit forever 
All that is vexing in earthly strife. 
6 8i 



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One of these days we shall know the reason, 
Haply, of much that perplexes now; 

One of these days, in the Lord's good season, 
Light of his peace shall adorn the brow. 

Evermore blest out of tribulation. 

Lifted to dwell in his sun-bright smile, 

Happy to share in the great salvation, 
Can we not patiently tarry a while? 

At the Fort 

HE soldiers are marching afar 
In the pomp and splendor of war, 
But some must tarry at home; 
Eating their hearts with desire 

For the rough, long road and the fight, 
For the tent near the red camp-fire, 

For the call in the gray dawn-light. 
Tarry at home, when they fain would roam ! 

There's neither honor nor sport. 
They say, in holding the fort. 

There's neither glory nor fame. 
They are wild for the thrill of the drums, 

82 




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And they sit, just biting their thumbs; 
They are here to look after the stuff, 
Such warfare they count not enough, 

Nor worthy of warfare in name. 
Yet women, from childhood to age, 

Sit aside as spectators, nor take 
A hand in the game, nor engage 

Beyond the dull yearning and ache 

In the passionate life of the world. 
They look from the casement and pray, 
They hold the home fortress all day, 

Under banners of patience unfurled, 
And perhaps in God's heaven they are 
Mustered in for the length of the war. 

At the fort, at the front, so we serve, 

What boots it? so duty is done. 
So that never from orders we swerve. 

So that somehow the good cause is won. 
If we strive in the open, or wait 

Till the enemy storm at our door ; 
If we stand, keeping closely the gate. 

If we charge, with our captain before. 
All is well, at the end of the day. 

For the one who did heed and obey. 
83 





It Was Not Worth While 

HEAP of loosened jewels, 
A little puff of dust, 
A sheaf of withered flowers, 
A tinsel red with rust; 

Some bitter brew of malice, 
Some dregs of scorn and hate. 

To poison life with venom. 
Remorse that came too late — 

For these you sold your birthright. 
For these you proved untrue. 

Poor soul, that bankrupt suffers. 
Was it worth while to do ? 

Was it worth while to forfeit 

Your pride, your stainless name; 

Leave Ichabod the only 

Dark legend yours to claim? 

Behind his mask, the tempter 
Surveys you with a smile. 

And 'neath your faded flowers 
You hear him hiss — worth while ! 
84 



Naming the Baby 



■ 



OW what shall we call her, the lily- 
white maid, 
Now what is her name up in heaven? 
The name that the angels are whispering sweet 
As they watch her, with pinions that shadow 
their feet. 
What name to our babe have they given? 

Shall we choose the sweet title her forbears 
have worn 
For ages ? a Mary, a Margaret, ours 
In the line of the saints, there are dear ones 

who stand. 
And here they were blessed of heart and of 
hand. 
And their memory our little one dowers. 

Or yet shall we christen her Gladys or Bess, 

Or Constance, or Eleanor, pray? 
As we merely may guess at the name she 

brought here 
We must give her another which love shall 
endear. 
To last all earth's beautiful day. 

85 




And our Lord in His goodness will own her 
sweet name, 
If we give Him our lily-white child, 
And her earliest speech its petitions shall 

frame. 
While our faith for our babe shall the covenant 
claim, 
And Christ keep her. His own, undefiled. 



A Cradle Croon 




LEEP my baby, slumber soon. 
Angels walk in silver shoon. 



Sleep, my baby, far and wide 
Moonbeams gild the flowing tide. 

Sleep, my baby, in the trees 
Leaves nod in the drowsy breeze. 



Sleep, the little lambs and sheep 
Safe in fold the shepherds keep. 



86 



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Sleep, the birds are in the nest 
Tucked beneath the mother's breast. 

Sleep, my baby, sleep, my dear, 
Sleep serene from any fear. 

Night is given for you to float 
Off in slumber's fairy boat. 

Never need you fret, my dear. 
Mother love is close and near. 

Sleep, my baby, sleep, my love, 
AH the stars are out above. 

And the clock is striking, slow- 
Shut the silken eyelids — so. 

Angels walk in silver shoon. 
Mother sings her tender rune. 

And the good God watches all 
As the thickening shadows fall. 

87 



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Twice a Day 

WICE a day I hear the shout 
From the children, school is out ; 
Once at noon and once at night, 
Forth they troop in wild delight. 

If the darlings only knew 
What perplexing tasks we do. 
If they knew that grown-up land 
Had its briers on every hand. 
Would they with such eager joy 
Rush to playtime — girl and boy? 

And if we were just as wise 
As the children, would we prize 
Bits of respite, bits of fun. 
Breathing spells when tasks are done. 

As the children do? No doubt, 
Half the time, when school is out 
We go toiling on, nor play 
As we might, in childish way. 



83 



„Un7n1:i..H|iHll 'i "l l! " !|l |^'l| ; 'l!l| l' | ! ^^'^!' ! |i !l , \ \\\A , w ;..v w i:... w.-v'.-, v-- . ,., , f^.^ l't^.. ^.^^ ^ 



^ HEARTS 

J KC^KPAy /'if -r •» I II ' 

>■ <S^ a#» iLi;* . \ \ if-J^ 

♦ ^ -^ -^ v^ ^^ |L 



Ja..U' 



At the Coronation 




HE heralds cried, " Long live the 
King!" 
In clamorous shouts the throng 
replied ; 
The little children came to sing, 
The gladness rippled far and wide. 

But underneath the jeweled crown 
The King nor lifted eye nor hand; 

His brow was furrowed with a frown. 
His sadness blurred the smiling land. 

For lo ! upon the fringing edge 

Of that vast crowd, the King discerned 

One, fast who held his broken pledge. 
One whose hot scorn his sin had earned. 

A crime's wan ghost returned once more. 
He faced a shadowy judgment-seat. 

And all the path grew dark before 

The monarch's shamed, victorious feet. 



89 



-a I 
\ 



"S^iS'S^SrOlll! 






BSSrii 





Hope 

HE midnight was black and dreary, 
With never a star in sight; 
Oh, but our eyes were weary, 
Straining for morning light. 

The shadows were swift to gather, 
But the dawn came trembling in ; 

The dawn, that we thank Thee, Father, 
Ever its battle must win. 

Pale on her pillow lying. 

Our dear one stirred and smiled ; 

We thought she was dying, dying. 
When the midnight winds were wild. 

But swift as the morning lances 
Pricked over the hills and the sea. 

Life came with their swift advances; 
This grief was not to be. 

And hope that had fainted, lifted 
A look that was calm with prayer ; 

The skies were with sunshine rifted, 
And the angels of God were there. 

go 



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Mother 

MHAVE only to shut my eyes, and I see 
her sitting there, 
In the easy chair in the corner, with 
the sifted snow on her hair. 
And her dear hands folded gently, as she rested 

after the day 
That had been so busy for others, as was always 
the mother's way. 

She was not often idle, she had knitting or 

patch-work to do. 
And her fingers moved quite swiftly, as she 

talked and laughed with you. 
But she ever found time to comfort the soul 

that was bowed with grief. 
And you never took her a trouble, but you 

brought away relief. 

In the hour of pain and illness, what touch was 

like mother's own? 
Soothing the throb of fever, hushing the pitiful 

moan; 

91 




In the shadow of the valley, her steadfast faith 

was strong, 
And she smiled, as she heard beforehand the 
angels' welcoming song. 



Oh, mother, darling mother, your true heart 

never grew old ; 
You were never unbelieving, never were cross 

or cold ; 
Your eyes were full of heaven, your love was 

hallowed by prayer ; 
Sweet mother, calm and queenly, in the throne 

of the old arm-chair ! 



We are lonelier without you; we miss you as 

we plod. 
Bearing our heavy burdens, on the road that 

once you trod; — 
We are cheerier that you taught us the victory 

to win 
Through the Christ who came to save us from 

the stain and shame of sin. 

92 



^ 



^ 



It's just to shut my eyes, Dear, and I see you 

sitting there. 
Just between dark and daylight, with the snow 

on your silver hair; 
I often think you are near me, though you dwell 

in Heaven now. 
My own, my beautiful Mother, with the peace 

of God on your brow! 



Nursery Cares 




OTHER, with your brood at night 
Safe within your tender care. 
Every golden head in sight. 
Not a darling missing there — 
Haply you are very tired. 

Sometimes heavy-hearted, too; 
Just the things you most desired 
Were not yours this day to do. 
Troubles seem to come in troops. 
Wearily your prayers are said; 
'Neath your load your courage droops 
As you drag yourself to bed. 

93 



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Mother, count these happy days, 

Fill them not with dole and fret ; 
Round them out with ceaseless praise, 

God's great love is on you set. 
When the little lads are still 

Sheltered in your guardian care ; 
Yours to mold them as you will. 

Not a darling missing there. 
When the lads are bearded men, 

When the little maids have grovm 
And the children leave you, then 

Making homes their very own; 

When you cannot tell at night 

Where your best beloved are, 
East and West and out of sight. 

O'er the wide world scattered far — 
One a sailor on the wave. 

One a soldier in the strife. 
One low lying in the grave. 

Worsted one in woes of life — 

Mother, then your heart may ache ; 
Happy days you're spending now, 
94 



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:-^^^!r/i^- jf'^y ■ w M.-.I.- 




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When the little frocks you make. 

Part the ringlets on each brow, 
Hear the little daily tasks, 

Soothe the passing childish grief 
That of mother ever asks. 

Sure to find, the sweet relief. 
Thank the dear Lord when you pray. 

For the crowding nursery brood 
Are your own and His to-day! 

*' Praise the Lord for He is good ! " 



Victoria Regina 
1901 

|OLL for her, bells, toll from tower and 
steeple ; 
Toll for her, mother and queen of her 
people ; 
Send the sad tidings far over the sea, 
Tell them wherever her loyal sons be. 
She, who was royal, now fallen on sleep, 
Heedeth nor heareth, though thousands may 
weep. 

95 



m 



She, whose proud scepter swayed millions of 

men. 
Outward hath drifted from sight and from 

ken. 
Safe with the kings and the great ones of earth, 
Past all the battles, the mourning, the mirth; 
Toll a deep knell for her, queen of her own, 
Vanished forever from palace and throne. 

Grieve for her, winds, as ye wail round her 

coasts; 
Grieve for her, banners, half mast o'er her hosts. 
Sailors of England who man the brave ships 
Mourn as her name trembles last on your lips. 
Soldiers of England whose camp-fires blaze 
Round the wide world, ye shall never more 

raise 
*' God save the Queen ! " for your queen shall 

no more 
Send you her blessing in peace or in war. 

Mists of the moorland and dew on the thorn, 
Glens that she trod when her days were at 

mom; 

96 



Children she cradled and friends that she 

knew, 
Homes that she watched through the rose and 

the rue; 
Places and people she cared for, be sad. 
Surely she gave you the best that she had. 

Little old lady, so homely and plain ; 
Little old mother, so stanch in her reign, 
When the kind angel of life came at last. 
Death with its bitterness every whit past. 
Into the springtime she slipped and away 
Fell the chill snows of her lingering day. 

Flowers for her as she lieth asleep ! 
Flowers their sweetness forever to keep; 
Widowed no longer, she'll rest by his side. 
Once who was proud of her, maiden and bride, 
All her day's work at the set of the sun. 
Ended and put aside, all, and well done. 
Let the long ages the story repeat ; 
Fadeless her fame, though the ages are fleet. 
Toll for her. great bells, from tower and steeple, 
Mother and idol and queen of her people. 
7 97 









■ ^ 4* * #■ 




Evensong 

0-DAY the fields are reaped and 
shorn, 
The fruits are gathered in, 
And shines the golden light of morn 
On wealth of barn and bin. 



Dun tints lie where the summer's green 
Waved at the south wind's breath; 

Bare boughs are lifted, stripped and clean, 
By besom touch of death. 



Along the brown and slumberous tide 
Float down the withered leaves. 

The fields are naked far and wide 
Where late were bound the sheaves. 



A touch of frost is in the air. 
The nights are crisp and cold. 

The Northern Lights like torches flare 
O'er wintry wood and wold. 

98 



And now we open wide the door, 

And call the kith and kin 
To throng beneath the roof once more 

Till all are gathered in. 

The white-haired sire, the sturdy son. 
The blooming boys and girls, 

Down to the latest little one 
With yellow clustering curls, 

About the table meet to-day. 
And feast with joy and mirth; 

And many a tender word they say 
Around the radiant hearth. 

And thanks they give to God above. 
Whose hand upon their way 

Has been a hand of constant love 
And led them to this day. 

For blessings more than tongue can tell 

The household praises rise ; 
The strains of music throb and swell 

And climb to pierce the skies. 

L.orc. 99 



** God save the commonwealth! " they cry 

In faith that God will hear. 
Since never prayer was sent on high 

To reach a loveless ear. 

" God save and bless the dear home-land! 

God save our flag from shame, 
God keep us ever, strong to stand 

A nation in His name." 

So, from its dawn to sunset's hour. 

We keep Thanksgiving Day, 
For sheaf and seed, for bud and flower, 

For life and death we say? 

" All glory to the Lord of Hosts ! 

All glory, honor, praise ! " 
The psalm is heard on all our coasts. 

Our seas and inland bays. 

A nation with its thousands brings 

To God its homage meet. 
And here its mighty choral flings 

Low at Jehovah's feet. 

lOO 



=^ 



A Homestead Rally 




O many a gracious lady, to many a busy 
man, 
There comes in chill November a 
sweet and flute-like call, 
"Leave later friends and neighbors, leave 
scheme and task and plan. 
And once more cross the threshold of your 
childhood's happy hall.'* 

The old home longs to greet you; the roof is 
low and broad, 
The apple tree still taps against the nursery 
chamber's pane; 
Before the door the great stone lies, by time and 
weather flawed. 
And there the sturdy lilacs stand on guard in 
sun and rain. 

Life means for you succession of swiftly hurry- 
ing days; 
More soberly it keeps the pace for those you 
left behind 

lOI 



-TilrJild ,i 






_ .- - - M lltCV; 



Mllllllllf - 

,11,1 ill' 



When first the bugles sounded and you trod 
the crowded ways, 
That feel the thrill and throb of toil, the 
marching of mankind. 



Dear Mother grows no older, her hair is silver 
white, 
Her placid look remains the same ; her smile 
as full of cheer. 
Her brow is ever radiant as if with angel light, 
She only grows the lovelier with every pass- 
ing year. 



And Father, just a little bent, a little deaf, per- 
haps. 
But stir him up on politics, he straightens; 
times like these 
Need patriotic arguments ; in him you'll find no 
lapse 
Of stubbornness for principle ; he's Father, if 
you please. 

I02 



How happy is the gathering when Ruth and 
Isabel 
And Jack and Reuben come along, and all 
their bonny brood ; 
Here's dainty Madge, here's little Mark, here 
sweet coquettish Nell, 
And oh ! to meet the kith and kin and sit with 
them is good. 



For blood is thicker far, my friends, than water, 
and we find 
A subtle tie of clanship when the scattered 
tribe comes home ; 
And the heart is ever yearning for the love it 
left behind, 
How far so e'er the pilgrim feet around the 
great world roam. 



And many a winsome woman, and many a 
stately man 
Is glad when in the heart it sounds — that old 
Thanksgiving call: 
103 



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Come back again, ye children, and be children 
as ye can 

Alone beside the mother's knee, in child- 
hood's olden hall ! " 



So lift to God the anthem and gather in the 
sheaves 
* And bind them to His holy praise, and sing 
with glad acclaim, 
Till everywhere the roof-tree, and the dear 
familiar eaves 
Are ringing with the joyful songs that bless 
the Mighty Name. 



A Bit of the Book 



A bit of the book in the morning. 
To order my onward way. 

A bit of the book in the evening. 

To hallow the end of the day. 

104 



FIELD AND GARDEN 



f^^ 


^^ 



Wild Flowers 



MKNOW their haunts, the lovely things, 
with shy, uplifted faces; 
That seek to hide in secrecy of shady 
wooded places. 
I know the tints that wreathe the heights, the 

cups that scent the valleys. 
And all the troop processional that Nature's 
tocsin rallies. 

Ere yet the lingering snows had gone, the ar- 
butus was blushing 

Beneath her screen of withered leaves, a ves- 
tal faintly flushing; 

Then, later, came a purer snow, when dog- 
wood blossoms shining 

Lit starry tapers in the trees as daylight was 
declining. 

The mountain laurel's pink and white, it filled 

my heart's desire ; 
My fingers thrilled with gladness when I culled 

the dear sweet-brier; 

107 




/£? 



\-f^,.-rfK. Ill 

For violets and buttercups, for acres bright 

with clover, 
The honey-bee and I alike ranged miles of 

beauty over. 



Such fields on fields with daisies pied! such 

ferns in glooming hollows! 
And oh ! the rich marshmallow's bloom, where 

who the path that follows 
Shall find the cardinal's regal flag, and through 

the reeds and grasses 
Discover homes of timid birds that build in 

guarded passes. 



To-day the aster's purple plumes beside the 

way are gleaming. 
The blue-fringed gentian near the brook in 

easeful grace is dreaming. 
The golden-rod is everywhere, the woodbine's 

scarlet splendor 
Shines softened through the opal haze that 

floats in radiance tender. 
io8 



h,.^.<'w':'^*<'^^?fF=:y^rvu..,.,_I^^l_ _ _-^5?^?K^?5?7Sr15^/>fi^^ 





DAN^CARnRM 



Ah me ! the frost is coming soon, the wildwood 
flowers shall vanish; 

The wintry cold, the cruel winds, the gentle 
things will banish. 

But patience, heart! they'll only sleep, and in 
the glad spring weather 

Once more the flowers and I will keep a fes- 
tival together. 



Afterglow 

T sunset and after, as shy as a dream. 
What time all the opulent splendor 
has faded 

Into wan ashen dusk when the amber has 
shaded. 
And twilight has fallen on hilltop and stream, 
One sees stealing back a faint rosy reflection 

That deepens and melts into loveliest blush. 
As elusive and soft as a sweet recollection 
That tugs at your heart with its tremulous 
hush. 
Be silent and gaze at the great sky, for, lo ! 
God's angels are there painting day's afterglow. 

109 




^ 



J 




.0\ 



An Old Garden 




AST bound in the dusty city, 
As held in a prison grim, 
I send my love to a garden 
That grows by the sea's blue rim, 
A dear old-fashioned pleasaunce 
Beautiful, quaint, and prim. 

There flourish in their splendor 

Peonies red and white. 
And clumps of stately lilies 

A wonder to the sight. 
And a perfect riot of roses 

For the bees' and my delight. 

Dusk pansies there, with alway 
Their sweet appealing look, 

Forget-me-nots that from the sky 
Their tender blueness took, 

And rose geranium to press 
In some dear poet's book. 

Great store of phlox and myrtle. 
And rows of straight sweet pease, 
no 



All sorts of lady slippers 

The children's eyes to please, 

And over in the corner 
Two tall mimosa trees. 

I can't begin to tell you 

How rich that garden seems, 

How with remembered honey 
Its shadowy cloister teems, 

How oft its low bird-music 

Goes fluting through my dreams. 

There used to walk a mother 
Whose gentle form no more 

Keeps tryst with fading flowers; 
Whose earthly work is o'er. 

Vm sure she helps the angels 
On some sweet blooming shore. 

And pent in city fastness 
'Mid houses close and high. 

Between whose thronging roofs I catch 
A little bit of sky, 

I think how wide and full and free 
That garden still must lie, 
III 




With all outdoors around it. 
And near, the sea's blue rim. 

Where evermore the sounding waves 
Uplift Jehovah's hymn. 

So here's my love, dear garden: 
Old-fashioned, quaint, and prim. 



A Retreat 




PLACE I know, the haunt of 

dreams, 
A quiet space, deep hidden away. 
Where softened fall the noonday gleams, 
Where one might go alone to pray. 



There little winds are whispering round; 

One sometimes hears the hermit-thrush; 
The passing foot awakes no sound 

In that sweet sanctuary's hush. 



I, who to-day must toil and spin. 

Near the great city's throbbing heart. 

Unto that white peace enter in. 
Of that pure silence am a part. 



112 



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Mother's Flowers 

OTHER had pinks and four o'clocks, 
Lady-slippers and prince's feather, 
And peonies, lilacs, and sturdy phlox. 
Flowers that bloomed in a tangle together. 

Her garden was sweet with the honey of June, 
And it fairly rioted till October, 

And only when winter its eerie rune 

Crooned in its ear, was that garden sober. 

And grave as a Quaker in garments staid, 
Till the snow came down with its cover of 
whiteness ; 

Then prim and silent the garden made 

Penance a while for its summer's brightness. 



Mosses 

They cling with tender fingers 
To the tall and wind-rocked tree ; 

Where the bitter cold is fiercest. 
There the shielding mosses be. 
8 113 



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The Child Among the Lilies 




HE lilies stood up straight and tall, 
And white they shone against the 
sun. 

The child was very round and small, 
A rosy, dimpled little one. 



She called the lilies by their names — 
Agnes and Blanche and Dorothy — 

And thought them proud and stately dames; 
And yet, she said, they play with me. 



So many, many lilies there. 
And just one baby, only one. 

With sweet blue eyes and silken hair. 
That rippled red gold in the sun. 



No mother had this little maid; 

Her mother watched her out of heaven. 
And, with the lilies, when she played. 

At dawn, or noon, or dew-wet even, 

114 



The mother dropped a tender kiss 

Into the tallest lily's heart; 
Dear Christ, she prayed, but grant me this: 

My child to live her life apart 

From sin, and sorrow born of sin ; 

Such grace be hers as lilies learn — 
Lilies, which neither toil nor spin, 

Yet evermore to heaven turn. 

Wise virgins they with tapers trimmed, 
Ready the bridegroom's train to meet, 

Their gleaming cups forever brimmed 
With perfume for the bridegroom's feet. 

In her safe heaven the mother cared. 
And where they count not time by hours 

She and a guardian angel shared 

Love-vigil o'er the child and flowers. 

So stood the lilies straight and tall, 
And white by night and white by day; 

I think they knew the low love-call 
Of that sweet little maid at play, 

115 



LYHiC5^''LUV 




Who gave them quaint, old-fashioned names — 
Agnes and Blanche and Dorothy — 

Oh! very proud and haughty dames, 
Who yet, she said, are good to me. 



Heartsease 

r^r^ HAVE nothing to send you, Dearest, 
fc^jlS) On the day you make so sweet; 
But if I could I would gather 

Roses to strew at your feet; 
Lilies to light your chamber 

When the gloaming gathers in. 
And to sing you a song of their glory 

Who neither toil nor spin. 

The best I can bring you. Dearest, 

Is the herb they call Heartsease. 
For you live with the few and the precious 

Who seek not self to please. 
But ever who live for others. 

And ever who make us give 
Thanks to the Father in Heaven 

That with us He lets them live. 

ii6 



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To take each hour as He sends it, 

To count no moment lost, 
To live in the light of the sunbeam. 

Never to think of the cost — 
This is to find a blessing 

As the soul beholds the Christ, 
And never loses the heartsease 

She gathers v/ith Him at tryst. 




Arbor Day 

^E are planting a tree — 

For to-day and to-morrow, 
For the blithe years to be, 
For the comfort of sorrow. 
For shelter and shade, 

For the song and the wing. 
For the sun and the rain 

And the sweet rains of Spring, 
For summers and autumns 

And winters to be, 
For storms and for calms, 
We are planting a tree. 
117 



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The Corn and Wheat 



^^fSgjH, the fields of ribboned corn, swaying 
jl^^li ripened in the morn. 

Oh, the wondrous waving wheat 

growing full, through cold and heat — 
Oh, the sweetness and the wealth yet to feed 

the great world's health ; 
Here I sit where falls the light darkened 

through the towering height 
Of the walls of brick and stone, round the 

thronging city thrown. 
And my thoughts go flying far, under sunshine, 

under star. 
To those ample spaces, white when the moon 

rays glisten bright. 
Yellow when the noon is spread hot and fervid 

overhead. 



Angel-watched those fields have been, though 
they neither toil nor spin. 

They have only had to wait for God*s breath- 
ing soon and late ; 



ii8 



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Rain and dew and flake and mist, morns of 
tender amethyst, 

Nights of brooding mother love, all that harvest 
life above, 

God Himself forever near, God who feeds His 
children dear. 

Though they strive in fierce debate, clash of 
arms and furious hate. 

Though they spend their hours in vain, follow- 
ing Mammon's eager train, 

Not forgotten of the Lord, bread they break at 
Heaven's board, 

And the heart of Heaven is sweet, in that har- 
vest corn and wheat. 



Lack we faith in Him who stands, holding out 

such gracious hands? 
Are we slow for Him to go, do we loiter at 

the task? 
Yet we know a full supply comes like manna 

from the sky. 
In our utmost need and dole we are whole if we 

but ask. 



119 





Forest Blessings 

]UCH beautiful things in the heart of the 
woods ! 
^^^^ — Flowers and ferns, and the soft green 

moss; 
Such love of the birds, in the solitudes 

Where the swift wings glance, and the tree- 
tops toss; 
Spaces of silence, swept with song. 

Which nobody hears but the God above; 
Spaces where myriad creatures throng, 
Sunning themselves in His guarding love. 



Such safety and peace in the heart of the woods, 

Far from the city's dust and din. 
Where passion nor hate of man intrudes. 

Nor fashion nor folly has entered in. 
Deeper than hunter's trail hath gone, 

Glimmers the tarn where the wild deer drink ; 
And fearless and free comes the gentle fawn 

To peep at herself o'er the grassy brink. 



1 20 



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Such pledge of love in the heart of the woods. 

For the Maker of all things keeps the least, 
And over the tiny floweret broods, 

With care that for ages has never ceased. 
If He care for this, will He not for thee — 

Thee, wherever thou art to-day? 
Child of an infinite Father, see; 

And safe in such gentlest keeping stay. 




May Winds 

HROUGH the green 
dogwood shines. 
The yellow jasmine 
pines, 



gloom the 
lights the 



Sweet violets nestle in the grass, 
And all the vagrant winds that pass 
Stoop down to brush with kisses free 
The virgin, coy anemone; 
The lonely woods are blithe to-day 
With life and love and hope and May. 



121 




Flower o' the Apple 



m 



^AY days, and robin songs, and flower 
*l\y|^ o' the apple. 

Wings flashing here and there, nests 



in the eaves. 
Vine tendrils pushing up, rose blossoms bud- 
ding. 
And by and by, in barn and bin, the fruit- 
age and the sheaves. 

And oh! it is so good to be a child in God's 
garden ; 
A little child of God, to dwell in God's house 
in the spring. 
When, like foam upon the river, is the flower- 
ing of the apple. 
And in the greening forests, the happy bird- 
lings sing. 



You cannot tell the number of the pink and 
blushing blossoms. 
Nor the star dust in the azure, nor the sands 
beside the sea, 

122 



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But the Lord who keeps their tally and who 
calls them when they rally 
Has a tender care, dear heart, to-day, for you 
and me. 

The Little Brown Mate 

HE little brown mate has left the nest. 
And she's half forgotten her song ; 
Her brood are away in the sunny day. 
Her cares no longer throng; 
But she misses the soft wings under her breast ; 

She misses the need and the cry; 
The poor little mother, who has no other 
Round eggs *neath her heart to lie. 

The little brown mate may flute a note, 

A low little note and sweet, 
If her lover comes back on his homeward 
track. 

With a call her own to greet; 
She's only a tiny brown mate, you see. 

And in naught can she find her rest; 

The poor wee mother, who has no other 

Fit niche in the world but her nest. 

123 





A Good-by 

|ERE they are, back again, sweet and 
the last of them. 
All the dear flowers that come at the 
end, 
Soon the hoar frost will fall, white o'er the 
past of them, 
Withered and faded, each fair flower friend. 
This is the end. 



Beautiful asters and blushing marshmallows, 

Gentians that lift their pure faces to-day, 
Long plumy grasses that fringe the brook- 
shallows, 
Splendid chrysanthemums lighting the way. 
Starring the way. 



Soon they will go, all these brilliant creations ; 
What is their meaning, and why do they 
come, 
Only to flit, as they mark the way-stations 
Passed by the pilgrims who take the road 
home? 

Take the road home. 
124 



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Think how the summers have always been 
brightened 
By the processional march of the flowers, 
Think how the seasons roll, still their joy 
heightened, 
By the sweet blooms that have measured the 
hours. 

Fairest of flowers. 



We can but wait till another year brings them, 

For they will sleep, to awaken once more. 
When the time comes that the flower-angel 
flings them 
Straight out of heaven through earth's open 

door. 
Giving us largesse of beauty in store. 



And I believe that the like of them ever 

Laugh in the sunlight that beams for the 
blest ; 
Somewhere we'll find them, our lost flowers, 
never 
Quite out of season, where life's at its best. 

125 



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Here's a farewell to them, these, the gay last 

of them, 

Here's au revoir, we can spare them a while, 

Snow will drift softly and soon o'er the past 

of them ; 

Bow the bright flowers out, yes, with a smile. 



A Matin Song 



vj^^j ARLY in the morning, 
/J^^ Just as day was breaking, 



I heard a darling little bird 
His tender mate awaking. 

" Flute— flute— flute— 
O stir thee, love ! " it said : 

For here's the day come back again 
With blue sky overhead! 

Early in the morning, too. 
One must be up and doing. 

There is no time for laggard will, 
Its daily tasks pursuing; 



126 







LD«GARDEN 



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" Flute— flute— flute- 
Be swift, dear love/* it said ; 

The little bird, whose song I heard 
In tree-top overhead. 

Early in the morning, 

The world is full of singing; 
And everywhere to cheer us on 

Are notes of music ringing. 
" Flute— flute— flute— 

O love, be brave and true ! " — 
The little bird whose song I heard, 

Said that with much ado. 

Early in the morning, 

The rippling waves were dancing; 
The lances of the coming day 

In golden light were glancing. 
" Flute— flute— flute— 

O love, be blithe and strong: 
There's work to do, there's nought to rue,' 

The bird said, in his song. 



127 




September 

MERRY tramp of little feet, 

Just hear the sweet vibration! 
The children over all the land 
Have had a long vacation. 




And back again they haste to take 
In school the dear old places. 

To measure out the days by rule 
With fair, unshadowed faces. 



They troop along the city streets. 
Grave eyes grow young that see them. 

And wistful hearts from every blight 
Of sin and pain would free them. 

Athwart the dusty ways of 'Change, 
With wafts of flowers and grasses. 

As if to music sweet and strange 
The brilliant army passes. 



128 




Along the quiet country roads, 
By purple asters bordered, 

At nine o'clock and half-past three 
The gay reviews are ordered. 

And childish voices, clear and shrill. 
Amaze the peeping thrushes. 

The vireos and the orioles, 
Housekeeping in the bushes. 

There's not a fence-rail far or near 
But flames in ribboned fire, 

The children find the old stone wall 
Half hid with ruby brier. 



Pansies 

" I can never paint the velvet," 
Said a child, with wistful look ; 

He who gave this pansy color, 
Paints each leaf of Nature's book. 



129 




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The Outer Court 



V^l^/N God's great temple, built of old, 
I^jIiS? And fashioned not by hands of men. 
There ripple melodies untold 
In sighing winds of mount and glen; 
In cadences that softly stir 

Through waving meadows lush and green; 
In sweeping boughs of pine and fir, 
In tiny nestling flowers unseen. 



And grander bursts of music rise 

From waves that thunder on the shore. 

From clouds that drift along the skies, 
When mighty tempests break and roar. 

From throng and clamor of the world, 
'Tis blessedness to creep away; 
And with the Lord Himself to stay. 

In His great temple, dew-impearled. 



So, often did the Master go 

And seek, beneath the greenwood's shade, 
The will of Him He loved, to know; 

There calmly to His Father prayed. 

130 



\,Jf\. ; FirT ^ 



The long night held Him ; folding dim 
Its mantle round the Son of God; 
And all the stars in regions broad, 

And all the great winds sang a hymn. 

And soft or loud, one word is said 
In those prolonged triumphant swells, 

And " Glory ! " rings where'er we tread, 
By white-capped surf or dimpling dells. 

Fair lie the dreaming lands to-day; 

The aftermath invites the bee ; 
And every lonesome wilding way 

Is beautiful that God may see. 
And bend from out His rifted heaven, 

And know how like it, earth uplifts 
Her templed heights, where seven times seven. 

Through ages on, the glory drifts. 

East and West 

Eastward, Westward, 
Far may be your flight; 

Loveward, homeward. 
Haste ye back at night. 

131 





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Golden Rod 




O you come earlier now, dear flower, 
Than in the summers sweet and 
long. 

When less seemed pressed in every hour, 
And cares were few and joys a throng? 



What brings you early in the season, 
While yet the fair wild roses blow? 

What is old Nature's secret reason 
So soon her autumn tints to show? 



You answer not, but gaily swaying 
Beside the road in fearless grace. 

You seem to whisper, " Going, staying, 
Or moving on in hurrying pace, 



" We flowers hear a voice that utters 
Command, and we can but obey. 

The planet whirls, the petal flutters. 
Because Jehovah says they may." 

132 




Sweet Golden Rod! Be mine to listen, 
And yours to preach, while glad days 
move. 

And sunsets glow, and pearl-dawns glisten 
Obedient to the God I love. 

A Snow Etching 

ANY silvern songs there be 
Floating, fleeting, cheerily 
When the leaf is on the tree 
And the days are long. 
Sweet, oh, sweet a strain I heard 
From a little lonesome bird ; 
Icy boughs by winds unstirred. 
Yet he poured a song ! 




Crisp and clear the bugle note 
From the blithe undaunted throat. 
Just a tune he knew by rote, 

Singing in the snow ! 
And I bade my own heart meet 
Trouble with a mood as sweet. 
Half-way going forth to greet 

All the winds that blow. 
133 






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Katydid 



^^^HE evening shadows gather and the 
a^^ land is very still. 

The dew is falling softly on meadow, 
vale, and hill; 
The thrushes cease their vespers, the bees are 

in the hive. 
And sleep is sifting tenderly on everything 
alive. 



Kdiiydid! Katy didn't! I hear the old refrain. 

Insistent, sharp, staccato, 'tis the well-remem- 
bered strain; 

'Tis sounding from the thicket, 'tis singing in 
the copse, 

From yonder field of clover in silvern sound it 
drops. 

And far and wide the crickets send back their 
monotone. 

The crickets and the katydids are in the world 
alone. 

And every busy daylight bird unto its nest has 
flown. 

134 



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From unforgotten summers, the summers of 
my youth, 

Troop back a phantom host of forms, of pleas- 
ure and of ruth ; 

I see the lissome figures of maidens fair and 
sweet ; 

I hear across the silent years the echoes of 
their feet. 

The tender words of other days my listening 
thoughts repeat. 



Katydid I Katy didn't! — how sharp and clear 
the strain ; 

Again I stop and listen to the tune of that re- 
frain ; 

It is blending with the cricket, it is calling 
from the hill ; 

It punctuates the silences when all the land is 
still ; 

When the thrushes cease their vespers, the 
bees are in the hive, 

And sleep is sifting drowsily on everything 
alive. 

135 




But it is not wholly sadness, this tender looking 

back; 
Where flowers have withered, other blooms 

have cheered the beaten track; 
There's nothing richer, fuller, than the wealth 

of autumn's time, 
When we're half way up the hill-top, with other 

hills to climb. 

Katydid I K&iy dtdn^i I and the cricket's steady 

drone. 
The little orchestra keeps on till all the birds 

have flown. 
And dews are heavy in the grass, and bees are 

in the hive, 
And sleep is falling dreamily on everything 

alive. 



A Wish 



Thy heart's desire, God give it thee. 
As comes the sap to thrill the tree; 
As comes the seed-life to the clod, 
God give thee, dear, the thoughts of God. 
136 



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Thanksgiving 

jOR all true words that have been 
spoken, 
For all brave deeds that have been 
done, 
For every loaf in kindness broken. 

For every race in valor run, 
For martyr lips which have not failed 
To give God praise and smile to rest, 
For knightly souls which have not quailed 

At stubborn strife or lonesome quest ; 
Lord unto Whom we stand in thrall 
We give Thee thanks for all, for all. 

For each fair field where golden stubble 

Hath followed wealth of waving grain ; 
For every passing wind of trouble 

Which bends Thy grass that lifts again ; 
For gold in mine that men must seek. 

For work which bows the sullen knee ; 
For strength, swift sent to aid the weak. 

For love by which we climb to Thee ; 
Thy freemen, Lord, yet each Thy thrall, 

We give Thee praise for all, for all. 

137 




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October 



TINGLE of spice in the frosty air, 
Shimmer and shine on the grass, 
Gold on the maples everywhere, 
Red where the oak leaves pass. 




Brier and vine a scarlet twine 
On the old stone fence, adorning 

Each rock they brush with their vivid blush ; 
This is an autumn morning. 



And it's up and away past field and lawn. 
Valley and mount and stream, 

Hurry and haste in the early dawn 
While the pearly dew-drops gleam. 



And never is life with bliss so rife 
As when, all dalliance scorning, 

We take the road, nor would shirk the load 
In the flush of an autumn morning. 

138 




s 




A shimmer of frost on the bending grass, 

A spice in the tingling air; 
And light are the footsteps of lad and lass, 

For pleasure is everywhere. 

A Wind of the South 

PND that sings of the dreamy South 
When the pale first blossoms woo the 
bee, 
Wind that flings from a golden mouth 

Tender spray of the summer sea. 
Wind that keeps for us light and bloom, 

That cradles the bird in the swinging nest. 
Wind that sleeps in the lilac's plume, 

Of the winds of heaven we love thee best. 

Over the springing wheat-fields pass, 

And over the small home gardens fare. 
Evermore bringing to grain and grass 

And flowers thy breath of blessing rare. 
Give us the cup of thy wine to taste, 

O wind of the South, so strong and fleet ! 
Never a drop of its joy to waste, 

In the days of the springtime coy and sweet. 

139 



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Dancing in the Street 




HE wind was piercing and bitter, 
And I hurried fast along, 
When sweet in the street about 
me 
Came the lilt of a little song. 

And the poor old organ-grinder. 
With a monkey dressed in red, 

Laughed at my look of wonder. 
Nodding his grizzled head. 

As out of the narrow alleys. 
And tumbling down the stairs, 

Came a quaint little throng of children. 
Dancing in merry pairs. 

Their clothes were rags and tatters. 
With broken shoes they were shod. 

But they sang with cheery voices. 
And danced to the player's nod. 

They didn't mind the biting 

Of the nipping, frosty air. 
They heard the sound of the music 

And danced away their care. 
140 



C^SfT^)fJ^-R^f^*!^ 






The Resting of the Fields 




ING, little brook, that sang so 
gay 
A measure to the winds of May, 



That caroled such a merry tune 

To match the fragrant hours of June. 

Sing, little brook, this autumn eve 
When flowers and birds have taken leave 

And only golden pumpkins shine. 
And frost has touched the trellised vine. 

Sing, while my heart its praise renews 
To Him who sends us dusk and dews. 

Sing, little dancing brook, of rest 
And harvest wealth in peace possessed. 

And as I hear thy tender strain, 
Which hath no undernote of pain, 

I'll think of Him whose favor shields 
The homes amid the resting fields. 

141 





Hillside Way 

P hillside way a morn of May 

Wears sheen of white and pomp of 
green, 

And robins tilt on fence and spray, 
And friendly catbirds flute and preen. 

Up hillside way the brooks are brown. 
And little ripples catch the light; 

Beneath the uproar of the town 

I hear the brooks from morn till night. 

They chant a tender undersong, 
Amid the furious strife of trade; 

My heart goes back where I belong, 

Where once, a heedless child, I played. 

No golden gains up hillside way. 

No stocks nor margins ; Nature there 

Keeps open house both night and day 
And spreads her board with ample fare. 

I knew the taste of manna when 
I used to stroll up hillside way ; 

Each summer was like heaven then, 

From springing grass to new-mown hay. 
142 



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riF! HANDnARnFM 



To-day the city holds me fast 

A captive dragging ball and chain; 

But sweet from out a happy past 
The old home woos my soul again. 




The White Days of Winter 

HE white days of winter, darling, 
When softly the snowflakes fall. 
Till a royal garment of ermine 
Folds tenderly over all. 
Field and hillock and valley, 

Hushed in the sweetest sleep; 
For the snow comes down from our Father, 
His loving charge to keep. 



Under the snow-robe, darling, 

There is wonderful brooding heat. 
That is taking care of the daisies, 

And saving the next year's wheat. 
And we'd have no flowers, dearest, 

When the spring's green days came back, 
If the white days did not bring us 

The feathery flakes in their track. 
143 








The Last Red Leaf 

l\g|^N the topmost bough, the nearest the 

The last red leaf had its beautiful 
place ; 
It knew the winds as they wandered by. 

It felt the kiss of the sun on its face ; 
When the rest of the leaves had grown tired 

and gone, 
This little red leaf held bravely on. 

And Mother Nature so wise and old 

Smiled as she looked at the small red leaf, 

That had staid when the banners of brown and 
gold 
Had finished their triumph bright and brief; 

The little red leaf that all alone 

Held the fort when its mates were gone. 



" You may stay," she said, " till the curtain 
falls, 
Till the birds have flown to the far sweet 
South; 

144 



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(Till the bugle blast of the north-wind calls — 
The blast that has frost and snow in its 
mouth), 
And then, dear leaf, when the play is done. 
You shall go to sleep at the set of the sun.'* 

So the little red leaf like a ribbon bright 

Waved from its place at the top of the tree ; 

It saw the stars as they kindled their light. 
It caught a glimpse of the shining sea; 

And one day feeling a waft of snow, 

The dear little leaf made haste to go. 

It fell asleep and it did not dream. 

It was not tired, its course was run. 
The little red leaf in dusk and gleam 

Had been happy and gay, and its tasks were 
done. 
With never a moan nor a fretting care, 
" Good-night," it said, and it was not there. 

'Tis a happy world if day by day 

We stand in our lot, and do our best ; 

Content and joyful as long to stay 

As the dear Lord wills, and to leave the rest 

lo 145 



M 




In the tender hands that keep us here, 
Bidding us cling with never a fear. 

'Tis a happy world, our Father's world, 
And the place He sets us in to do 

Our earthly task till our flag is furled, 

Is bright with sunshine and pearled with 
dew. 

Like the little red leaf let us blithely wait, 

Till the angels open the Heaven-gate. 



The Touch of Earth 

F old one gained his strength anew 
When faint and like to fail, 
If but on earth's soft breast he 
fell. 
And felt again the mystic spell 
Of turf and flower and gale. 




Still, in these hurrying modern hours. 

When faint and nigh to death. 
We rise refreshed and know once more 
The virgin zest of youth, and store 
Of deep and joyous breath, 
146 






^^^ 



If for a little while we stay 

In some dear mountain land, 
Where God is very near and prayer 
Is just the casting of our care 
Upon His mighty hand. 



Content to let Him have His will 

In us, about us, and to be 
As plastic as the molding clay, 

And thank Him for such destiny: 
So shall we bear the stress of time, 

From weakness safe, serene, and free. 



One Summer Day- 
it dawned in troubled strife of storm. 

But sunshine came before the close. 
It brought with it the golden gift 

Of summer*s first unfolding rose. 
It brought a dear one home to stay ; 
That ever gracious summer day. 
147 



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The Fairy People's Spinning 

OR little men and little maids, 

When night is just beginning, 
Oh, then, on quiet hills and glades 
The fairies start their spinning. 



And fast each silver shuttle goes. 
In summer darkness chilly. 

To weave the redness of the rose. 
The whiteness of the lily. 



To count the cunning little elves 
Would surely make you dizzy. 

They do not know their host themselves. 
These wee folk quaint and busy. 



By brook and creek, by isle and shoal. 
By velvet field and valley. 

Dame Nature keeps their muster roll. 
So often as they rally. 

148 






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And when the little children wake 

In sunny mornings early, 
They see the lace the fairies make, 

A cobweb tissue pearly. 

It lightly folds o'er branch and stem, 
It shakes with dews a-twinkle. 

And flings its cloth of gold and gem 
In many a filmy wrinkle. 

So little men and maids may dream 
While trolls and elves are plying 

Their looms beneath the starlight's gleam, 
And silent hours are flying. 




The Fresh Spring Flowers 

UCKED under the sedges, and close to 
the edges 
Of fields that are kissed by the winds 
of the South, 
Are the dear little flowers that Earth richly 
dowers 
With showers and sunshine, ere summer 
and drouth. 

149 



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Shy pink-tinted blossoms, that keep in their 
bosoms 
A sweetness elusive as zephyr that blows ; 
Fair violets of spring-time, who come in the 
wing time. 
And learn all the lore that the first bluebird 
knows. 



There's sheen on the rivers, where tenderly 
quivers 
On banks greening over, the new-budded 
leaf; 
And dear Pussy-Willow has stirred from her 
pillow, 
And jonquils are yellow as wheat in the 
sheaf. 
Soon wakes the pure lily, though mornings are 
chilly ; 
And bourgeons the snow-drop so fearlessly 
bold. 
And through dark aisles glooming, the rare 
dogwood blooming. 
Will lavish its splendor in forest and wold. 

150 



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Sweet flowers that glisten, that wistfully 
listen, 
To hear the faint call of the mother of 
love, 
The dew and the shimmer, the dusk and the 
glimmer 
Of star-beams and moon-ray, are yours from 
above. 
Ye dwell like white maidens whom purity 
ladens 
With dreams that come true in the light of 
the morn. 
And ye pledge us the word of the all-keeping 
Lord, 
That the gifts of His hands to our lives shall 
be borne. 
That whatever we need from His bounteous 
store 
Shall be added in fullness of more unto more. 

Not yet have we waited in vain for your hour, 

Nor once has the Maker forgotten to send 
To its own special place, the wee bit of a flower 
That brings to the old world the look of a 
friend, 

151 








In Florida 

LL day we drove through woods of 
pine; 
The winds sighed through their 
stately tops, 
As marshalled there in serried line, 

The tall trees stood in grove and copse. 
And pendent from their branches waved 
The long gray moss in filmy lace; 
Its shadowy beauty filled the place. 
The utmost storm its slightness braved. 

And firmest where the Northern gale 

Struck fierce against that forest line, 
Flung the soft moss, so thin and frail, 

A veil upon the slender pine; 
I mused amid that solitude 

Of Him who mingleth small and great; 

With Whom is neither soon nor late. 
But evermore Whose word is good. 

Alone, for swiftly passing years 
The sentry pines His bidding do. 

Each upward, skyward, proudly rears 
Its pillared shaft against the blue.. 
152 



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And, growing slowly, woven fair 
In mist and rain and sunny days, 
The gray moss like a robe of praise, 

Floats in the gently swaying air. 

It moves us like a whispered prayer. 

Oh, tenderness of Nature's heart. 
Oh, blessed aisles of silent space, 

Where one may sit and muse apart. 
And lift to Heaven a pleading face. 




A Song for the Home-Land 

SONG for the home-land, its valleys 
and hills. 
Its lakes lying blue, and its silvery 
rills, 
A song for its fields and their harvests of gold, 
A song for its mines with their wealth all un- 
told; 
The home-land, the dear land, the land of the 

free, 
O beautiful Mother, our hearts cling to thee! 

153 




A song for the church, with its call unto prayer, 
For the comfort and healing and joy we have 

there, 
A song for the school, with the flag on its roof, 
For the lessons it teaches from evil aloof, 
A song for true brotherhood, sturdy and free, 
O home-land, dear home-land, a chorus for 

thee! 

A song for our Sabbath that dawns with its 

peace. 
From greed and from bondage, a day of release, 
A song for our Bibles, wide open and fair. 
For our Sunday-schools dear, and the bands 

gathered there ; 
For the men and the women, whose service is 

free, 
O home-land, fair home-land, a chorus to thee ! 

A song for the children of lands far away 
Who come to this land of the blithe rising 

day. 
A song for the flag that can shelter them all ; 
A song for the hearth-flame in cottage and hall. 



154 



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In Early Spring 

[I^^^ET in the hollows lies the snow, 
p/M^j As white and cold and still 
As when it drifted long ago 
Beneath the windy hill. 

Yet bare and brown the fallow slopes 

Of upland pastures wait 
In silent dreams and endless hopes 

The days with bloom elate. 

No flower in all the land awake. 

No tender leaf unrolled, 
No greening spray of frond or brake. 

No willow's misty gold. 

But still the thrilling maples know 
The haunting sense of spring; 

The zephyrs of the south wind blow. 
We hear the bluebirds sing. 

With prescient hint of quickened life 

The forests are astir; 
New fragrance in the air is rife. 

New spice in pine and fir. 
155 




Ere long the arbutus shall peep 

Through screens of shielding leaves, 

The vines and briers softly creep, 
The seeds foretell the sheaves. 

We wait amid the gray-green waste. 

We list amid the hush ; 
We need not cry with eager haste 

For bloom and fruit and thrush. 

It is a moment exquisite. 

Faint-colored, almost still; 
Presaging fires of summer lit 

Beside each dancing rill. ^ 

Presaging all the gorgeous train 

Of all the flowers to be. 
On vale and mountain slope and plain. 

As lavish as the sea. 



In shine and shade, by day and night. 

The looms of Nature ply. 
And bloom forever follows blight. 

And life can never die. 
156 



^^^^' 




IJCLL 




Bouncing Bet 

MERRY, gleeful maiden in a ruffled 
frock of pink, 
She curtsies by the dusty road and by 
the river's brink, 
A laugh and nod for every one, a careless waft 

of sweet. 
And there is bonny, bouncing Bet, a hoyden 
most complete. 

Who gave her this enchanting name to match 
her gypsy face 

I do not know, but well it suits her lithe, un- 
fettered grace ; 

A little plebeian is she, by cottage doors to 
grow. 

And by the trodden highway side, her witchery 
we know. 



The children like her sturdy bloom, her frank 

and fearless eye. 
That never shrinks from sun or rain ; that dares 

the darkest sky. 

157 





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No dainty palace lady she, but damsel of the 
loom, 

Who spends her summer spinning her fair rose- 
tinted bloom. 



Oh, bouncing Bet, be good to me ; your happy, 

secret spell. 
How is it that your ruffled frock can always fit 

so well? 
How is it that you never fade, but wear your 

blushing pink. 
So freshly and with unconcern, where other 

flowers shrink? 



A sweet salvation army lass, you stand and 

preach to me, 
You bid me from the sordid fear, the anxious 

thought, be free. 
A little preacher in the lane, a teacher by the 

road. 
You lead my thoughts to One who lifts the heft 

of every load. 

158 




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1 



The Ripple on the Grass 

LEAN upon the pasture bars, and 
watch the swaying grasses 
So lightly flit the shadows, as o'er a 
mimic sea; 
The sweet wind fans the clover tops, and lin- 
gers ere it passes 
To leave a kiss of far salt spray upon this 
inland lea. 

The thickly standing spears are bowed, the 
flowers dip and sparkle, 
And tender tiny ripples cross the green and 
sunny space; 
And here the sun is hidden, and there the cloud- 
lets darkle. 
And swift across the lowland field, the sum- 
mer breezes chase. 

I mind me as a little child I watched the oat- 
grass changing 
From emerald to gold beneath the love-looks 
of the sun. 

159 




:222a 



I mind me, as a maiden, through the yellow 
wheat-fields ranging. 
And, as a matron, wandering through mea- 
dows sere and dun. 

And, evermore, the witchery of wind and wave 
would mingle 
When merrily the winds were out and o'er 
the land they swept; 
And evermore, my pulses throbbed and thrilled, 
when dell and dingle. 
Went rippling like a cradle rocked, until they 
smiled and slept. 




Vespers 

HE eager day of strenuous toil is wan- 
ing; 
Take breath and rest beneath the 
ancient tree, 
That lived and sheltered love and life's com- 
plaining 
Long ere this busy world had room for thee. 

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In those wide boughs, were nests and birds and 
sweetness 
Of mother-hearts that held the fledgelings 
dear, 
In those great crypts, amid the summer's fleet- 
ness, 
Were songs and wings in many a vanished 
year. 

Yet here we sit, while deep the twilight hushes, 
And list the silvern vespers of the birds; 

The robin flutes; the faint rose, lingering, 
flushes 
The silent sky ; we set the songs to words. 

What speech have we to link with thoughts so 
holy 
As those that sphere the music of the thrush? 
We may but kneel, and offer, bending lowly. 
Our praise to Him Who dwelt within the 
bush. 

Oh, Father, for the day of strife and passion 
We ask Thy pardon and Thy pitying grace. 

We can but give Thee praise in childish fashion. 
Thee, before Whom the angels veil the face, 
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Oh, Father, we Thy children fain would bring 
Thee 
Our evening hymn, as wordless as the notes 
The wrens and robins and sweet orioles sing 
Thee, 
Their love outpoured from little thoughtless 
throats. 

They take and thank Thee. We, oh ! gracious 
Father, 
We take and do not thank. Forgive us, Thou, 
Who dost at night Thy least and greatest 
gather 
Into safe arms of peace ; so bless us now. 



The Little Green Umbrellas 



^ 



NFURL your green umbrellas. 
Ye need not fear the storm 
Dear trees that shelter 'neath 
your shade 
So many a clinging form. 
162 



.-r— ^^" 




The squirrel and the robin, 
The cricket and the moth, 

All sorts of living folk ye shield 
When Nature waxeth wroth. 

The silken green umbrellas, 

They lap so close and fine 
They make a refuge from the rain 

Where'er your boughs entwine. 

On oaks and elms and maples 
Comes pelting down the storm. 

They spread their green umbrellas wide 
And keep the tree-folk warm. 



Honey Bees 

HEN any trouble came to them at 
Deacon Spenser's place. 
They went and told it to the bees; 
the illness, sorrow, death; 
I think the queen bee listened, and the workers 
of her race, 
Though nothing can they tell to us who have 
but mortal breath. 

163 





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All day the bees, the toiling bees, make honey 
in the cell. 
What can they care for us, whose toil brings 
nothing half so sweet? 
And yet, at Deacon Spenser's place, if there 
was grief to tell, 
One went and told it to the bees with heavy 
dragging feet. 

And once, when he was nigh to death, his 
daughter told the hive. 
They watched beside him through the night, 
and when the tide came in. 
It brought him back to strength again; the 
dying was alive, 
And some one went and told the bees; they 
seemed so near akin. 

The bees made never answer, but when the old 
man next 
Sat in his arm-chair on the porch, they 
swarmed to wish him cheer; 
They crawled upon his thin white hands, they 
crept about him, vext 
Alone, if any tried to send them from their 
friend so dear. 

164 



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Jack in the Pulpit 

ROM your sylvan pulpit, 
With its sounding board 
Arching well above your head, 
You bid us praise the Lord. 

The wee folk throng around you. 

And troops of tiny elves 
Beneath your solemn shadow 

Are fain to hide themselves. 

And you for church and chapel 
Have formed a grassy sward, 

Where store of sunshine golden 
Through glinting leaves is poured. 

From your arching pulpit 
You give us wisdom's hoard 

Of silent maxims, blending 
In one ecstatic chord. 

And evermore I hear you 
Beneath the sounding board 

In dulcet accents murmur, 
" Children, praise the Lord ! " 

165 



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By the Spring 

A mountain spring, a tiny thread of coolness, 
And lo ! beside it see the living green. 
So, planted by the waters, may they flourish 
Whose inner life is fed by springs unseen. 



Palms 

Bare desert and hot sands and drowsy calms, 
Lo ! an oasis, rich with feathery palms ; 
Somewhere a well must keep a fount of health. 
To give this desert place such gracious wealth. 

Frost on the Pane 

'JHILE the children were dreaming, a 
painter 
Wrought castles and peaks on the 
pane. 
Here are bridges and towers and turrets. 

And wonderful knights in a train. 
The name of the painter is funny; 
His face from our memory lost, 
We still keep his name ; and no money 
Will buy the white work of Jack Frost. 

i66 




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The Boy and the Brook 

To fish in, chiefly, says the boy 

Who waits beside the rippling brook; 

A baffling trout, he sees, with joy 
Accept his baited hook. 



The Days of a Tree 




O many days, so many months and 
years. 
Since first the little stem pierced 
through the sod. 
Since first on slender branch were tremulous 
tears 
Of crystal dews, since, climbing up to God 
The trunk grew stronger, and the great boughs 
bent 
To storms that swept from out the Northern 
deeps ; 
So many days, the tree hath dwelt content 
Beneath the eye that slumbers not nor sleeps. 

167 




The endless generations of the birds 

Have homed among these myriad rustling 
leaves ; 
And countless secrets — tenderer than words — 

Told to the robin as her nest she weaves. 
The tree has heard, and kept inviolate; 

The love notes thrilling in that rugged 
breast. 
Inscrutable and answerless as fate, 

A haven, and a harbor, and a rest. 

Swift darting like an arrow from the bow 

The squirrel leaps and glances through the 
shade 
Of overlapping green, and to and fro 

Within its arc, have timid creatures strayed; 
Rabbit and hare, and wood-folk shy and small ; 

So many a house beside the great tree's door. 
And One who sees if but a sparrow fall. 

Beholds their little span for evermore. 



Vast swirls of tempest have engulfed the tree. 
And mighty blasts of stern and gloomy cold ; 

White sweeps of anger from the northern sea, 
And banners of the hurricane unrolled, 

i68 



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Have rocked and caught it in their giant grasp. 
The torrent and the flood have drenched its 
limbs ; 
Winter hath bound it in an icy clasp, 
And stars above it sang their ceaseless 
hymns. 

A wondrous symphony o£ wind and sun, 

A wondrous melody of stars and space, 
Forever through the circling groves have run. 

The tree a cloister in a sacred place. 
Hushed days of ecstasy have been its own, 

Long days of summer when the stirless air 
Has bound it drowsy in a golden zone. 

Dreaming sweet dreams amid an ether rare. 

But dearest of all days I think have been 

The coy reluctant hours of waking spring. 
Foretelling of the life that soon should bring 

Renewal of the leaf, of song and wing ; 
Of sap quick melting at the old tree's core. 

Of pregnant motions, indistinct and sweet ; 
Dear days of spring, that link on wave and 
shore 

The wedded hands of Nature's frost and heat. 

169 




Oh, days most beautiful, days ever bright. 
Oh, days most glorious, sunsets amber 
clear ; 
Oh, marvellous mystery of the shrouding 
night. 
The circuit of the never-pausing year; 
We come and go ; like shadows pass away ; 
The birth, the pilgrimage, the grave are 
ours, 
So swift and brief our evanescent day, 
So soon are poured and spent our waning 
powers. 



While centuries behold the ancient tree 

That grows not old, its youth from age to 
age 
Reborn, by some exhaustless alchemy; 

Its new leaves turning on an unworn page. 
Behold! the Lord hath said, that as the days 
Of some great tree. His people's time should 
be; 
So, lift we up our song of ceaseless praise. 
And chord it with the anthems of the tree. 

170 






.=..=1 




Mignonette 

O one as fair as Ruth who stood 
Among the yellow corn, 
To one, as Esther, brave and 
good, 
I send my love this morn. 

And with my love, I choose for her 

A posy as an amulet; 
Dear, take from me, thy worshipper, 

This bunch of mignonette. 



Forget-Me-Nots 

They've borrowed their blue from the ether 
above. 

But 'twas earth that endov/ed them with mean- 
ings of love. 

And few of us know not some beautiful spot 

Where a flower looks up, crying, " Forget-me- 
not." 

171 




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Harvest 

UT yesterday the standing grain 
Was yellow in the noontide*s 
ray, 

The splendor of the waving plain, 
Is level with the fields to-day. 
And shorn away. 

Yet, finer is the ripened sheaf 
And richer is the girdled shock. 

Than utmost wealth of ribboned leaf. 
Than golden blades the wind that mock 
And shine and rock. 

Cut down and prone, the bearded wheat 
Shall be the hungry nations' bread; 
At Nature's board the world shall eat. 
Provision by her goodness spread, 
All shall be fed. 

Unharvested, the yellow grain 

Were but as withering fairy gold. 
By sharpest stroke and smiting pain. 
Alone its story hath been told. 
From ages old. 

172 



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A Haunted House 

O you remember it, George and Ned, 
Arthur, and Graham, and John, 
The tumble-down house and the 
mouldering shed. 
And the green and mossy stone? 
The rooms where the bats go scurrying 
through, 
And starveling rats abide ; 
The haunted house, like a worn-out shoe 
Thrown off by the highway side? 



Fearsome and dim when the twilight fell. 

And full of the eeriest sounds ; 
Though it stand in the midst of a dimpling 
dell. 

In the heart of fallow grounds. 
And the thing that haunted it most for me 

Was the wraith of a garden fair. 
Once that was homely and quaint and free, 

And ghostlike that lingered there. 

173 




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The tattered fringe of a faithful vine 

That clung to the tumbling roof ; 
A wan white rose, that seemed to pine 

And wane in its place aloof 
From the train of the roses that came with 
June; 

In the June of a long gone year, 
In the happy hope of a joyous time, 

One planted this white rose here. 



Do you ever see in the twilight gray 

The little maid who stands 
Just at the bend in the hillside way 

With flowers in her dimpled hands? 
She has hair in a braid to her apron's hem, 

And her small white feet are bare, 
A flower herself on a slender stem. 

In the sweet of the mountain air. 



Have you had a glimpse through the open door, 

The door that is never barred. 
Of the baby playing about the floor. 

And the older child on guard? 

174 





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Of the mother who sits by the window? see 
Her thread as she sits and sews, 

It is all as plain as plain can be, 

And sweet as the heart of the rose. 



The haunted house, no fearsome place 

Is this in the mountain land ; 
For the home that it was, with its olden grace, 

Hath never by wrath been banned. 
'Twas a home of faith, a home of love, 

A simple and lowly nest. 
And over it yet, there broods above 

The blessing of by-gone rest. 



Four O'Clocks 

Out of fashion, yet who cares? 

Once upon a time. 
Four o'clock and prince's feather 
Merrily hobnobbed together, 
Had no fear of wind or weather, 

Once upon a time. 
175 




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A Wee Bit Maid 

WENTY times a day she calls me 
From the hammock, from the 
swing, 

From the garden where her pansies 
Fragrant odors fling. 

Come and see the new bud blooming, 
Come and see the big brown bee ; 

Little maiden, always bidding 
Folk to come and see. 

Give her. Lord, the open vision. 

Give her insight as she looks 
In this world so full of fancies 

At Thy heavenly books. 

Gentian 



Worth waiting for through summer heat, 
This princess of the river's brink; 

We hold her by the gentle hand, 
And of the autumn vintage drink. 
176 



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Southernwood 

Still, when I pick these fragrant stalks, 
A phantom form before me walks ; 
My stately ancestress comes back. 
To haunt this spicy garden's track. 



In the Gloaming 

O long with anxious heart and 
mind. 
So long with care and grief I've 
dwelt. 
So many a baffling quest I find. 
So often wearily I've knelt. 
That in the gloaming of the year, 
I scarce can pray without a tear. 

The light grows dim, and not a star 
Glows in the heaven that seems so far. 
Thick veiling clouds are gathering, 
The tempest broods with baleful wing; 
Is all life's hue to be as gray 
And sombre as this wane of day? 
12 177 






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Nay, heart, look up, nor lose thy hope, 
Some day the heavenly gates shall ope ; 
Some day shall meet thee full of cheer; 
Some dawn foretell the endless year. 
Where evermore in light they stand 
Who dwell for aye at God's right hand. 




By the Ocean 

HE strength of the fathomless ocean, 
The might of the tides and the 
main. 
The forces that only Jehovah 

With mete and with bound may restrain: 
So broad, this highway of the nations. 

That leadeth from land unto land; 
So many the drops in this ocean, 
God measures them out of His hand. 



The Lord when He hollowed the valleys 
To make them a bowl for the sea, 

Set over it man in His image. 
And sent him its sovereign to be. 

178 



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By the salt of its spray it gives healing, 
By the joy of its strife, it gives peace ; 

From the petty, the vain, and the sordid, 
Its passionate life gives release. 



Gennesaret 

MARVEL, Lord, hast Thou forgot 
Those old, old days, anear the lake, 
When Thou to feed the famishing 
The little loaves didst break? 



That surging throng who saw Thy face. 
Those crowds who ate that heavenly bread, 

Who sat before Thee on the plain, 
And by Thy own dear hands were fed. 



I marvel. Lord, have they forgot. 
In all the ages that have passed. 

How Christ Himself their hunger saw. 
And gave them blessing after fast. 

179 




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But more, far more, I marvel why 
I, who am faint of heart this hour, 

Should doubt thy perfect willingness. 

Should dare to doubt Thy grace and power. 

My little crust shall, touched by Thee, 

Be loaf of finest of the wheat. 
My dwindling store, the miracle 

Of the old manna shall repeat. 



The Sermon of the Rock 




N the cool shadow of the rock, within a 
lonely land, 
I, who have journeyed far to-day, 
now rest my burning feet. 
The rock that centuries ago, Jehovah built to 
stand 
Forever as the symbol of His strength, un- 
worn, complete. 

The rock rebukes my little faith; I hear it 
preach of One 
As steadfast as the stars He lit, as gentle as 
the bird 



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That has its nest in yonder cleft ; as radiant as 
the sun, 
And yet, and yet, by human need and human 
weakness stirred. 



Nature's Word 

If Nature have a word for thee, 

'Tis this, be brave ; 'tis this, be strong. 
Let all thy heart be full of cheer. 
And fill the measure of the year 
With thrill of happy song. 



When the Tide Comes In 



Flood of joy and gladness when the tide comes 
in. 
Hurry of the waters to hide the barren waste ; 
Blessed stir and onward rush, yet neither 
noise nor din ; 
Only love and fullest peace in that kingly 
haste. 

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The Buckwheat's Bloom 




KITE in the glow of the August mom, 
it wafts its perfume, where 
The honey bees are winging slow, 
looters in search of spoil, 
Waves of its pure aroma break on the heavy 
and languid air. 
The breeze stoops low to kiss it, fair child 
of love and toil. 

To the hem of its dainty broidered robe, a 
princess here it stainds. 
Snowy and strong and splendid, and far as 
eye can see, 
Its beautiful swaying sceptre covers the rolling 
lands 
With the wealth of a bloom uncounted, that 
summer holds in fee. 



In the long, late August afternoon when the 
slopes are asleep with heat, 
And the shadow moth in the orchard boughs 
flits like a beam of the moon ; 

182 






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When the thunder-heads loom large and black 
and the great cold raindrops beat 
Clear in the face of the drowsy earth to 
waken it from a swoon, 

The buckwheat bends to the sudden storm, that 
sweeps but cannot rend; 
It tosses and bows in the wild wind's rage, 
but of sturdy fibre knit, 
It lifts when the sun comes forth again, the sun 
with the face of a friend. 
And the shine and the shade they both are 
made for the sweet in the heart of it. 

In an Old Clearing 

GES have slipped away apace 

Since the settler's axe swung here, 
And a woman watched with a home- 
sick face. 
The alien forests clear. 

She saw, not giant growths which hid 

A prowling, savage horde. 
But straight, tall timber, flower-thrid, 

A garden of the Lord. 

183 




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Rocking the cradle with her foot 

And hushing her babe to sleep. 
She could clench her toil-worn hand, and put 

Aside that anguish deep 

Which tore at her breath, and stabbed her 
soul. 

And made the fierce tears start. 
For there never was new land, root or bole. 

Cleared yet, that woman's heart 

Brake not beneath the lonely strain; 

Behold, in that graveyard's space. 
How deep they sleep, who died of their pain, 

The mothers of the race. 



Shelter Island 



Flying before a racing gale. 
That feathers the billows and puffs the sail, 
We round the point and skirt the shore. 
And laugh at the cry of " Home once more ! '* 
How far it streams, how golden bright 
That steadfast Shelter Island light. 

184 



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A Brier-Rose 

HE old man sits in the dusty room 
Where the money makers meet, 
His youth was lost in that murk and 
gloom, 
His heart in that heartless street. 




You scarce would dream that, a barefoot boy 
In the midst of the long gone by, 

He made friends with joy, nor found her coy 
Under an April sky. 



You would never think that hidden away 
Behind his thrice-barred door, 

Was the faded rose of a rose-red day. 
That should dawn for him no more. 



But, a little child with a fearless face 
Comes tiptoeing into his den, 

And leaves a wilding rose in the place, 
And, a man like other men, 

185 




The grim and silent financier 

Looks at the brier-rose, 
And God sees 'tis with a smile and a tear, 

And why it is so, God knows. 



An Exotic 

OME gray seafarer brought the seed, 
Some random sower dropped it 
here; 
In its old home a vagrant weed. 

That knew not thought of shame or fear, 
But held its own in stubborn strife, 
In temper brave, in vigor rife; 




This wayward lady masquerades 
As if of lineage proud and high; 

Her moods are flitting as the shades 
That float across the morning sky. 

And " poor relation " she would deem 

The plant whence came her primal stream. 

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Appledore 




7? HEN I remember Appledore, 

So many sweet thoughts mingle 
Of rare blue sky and long white 
shore 
And waves that cream the shingle. 



I swift forget the years that write 
Their pensive records for me ; 

I stand again in crystal light 
That pours effulgence o'er me. 



And chief in golden memory stands 

A woman tall and queenly, 
With flowers that fill her gracious hands, 

And eyes that smile serenely. 



True eyes, strong hands, a gallant form, 

Bred up anear the water, 
Unfearing she of gust and storm. 

No landsman's timid daughter, 
187 



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But princess of the wave and shore ; 

A host of flowers around her ; 
As I remember Appledore, 

Its radiant flowers crowned her. 

Dear poet of the changeful days 
That coast and bay commingle; 

Sweet woman of the loving ways. 
By many a lonely dingle. 

And many an inland farm, they tell 

Your lovely fancies over. 
Where tosses June, o'er moor and fell 

The spindrift of the clover. 

A silver arrow in your hair. 
Your gown of silver, graying 

To ash of pearls, you're standing there 
Amid the breakers playing. 

In surf upon the patient shore, 
The salt spray flings about you, 

I care no more for Appledore, 
What would it be without you? 



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After All 

E take our share of fretting, 

Of grieving and forgetting; 
The paths are often rough and 
steep, and heedless feet may fall. 
But yet the days are cheery. 
And night brings rest when weary. 
And somehow this old planet is a good world, 
after all. 

Though sharp may be our trouble. 
The joys are more than double. 
The brave outrank the cowards, and the leal are 
like a wall 
To guard their dearest ever. 
To fail the feeblest never ; 
And somehow this old earth remains a bright 
world, after all. 

There's always love that's caring, 
And shielding and forbearing. 
Dear woman's love to hold us close and keep 
our hearts in thrall ; 

189 




There's home to share together 
In calm or stormy weather, 
And while the hearth-flame burns it is a good 
world, after all. 

The lisp of children's voices, 
The chance of happy choices. 
The bugle sounds of hope and faith, through 
fogs and mists that call; 
The heaven that stretches o'er us. 
The better days before us. 
They all combine to make this earth a good 
world, after all. 



The River of Life 




[HEN we sit on the shore of the river 
' of life. 

When we walk by the crystal sea, 
When anger and passion, sin and strife 
Are ended eternally. 



190 




When pure of the stain weVe gathered here. 
And washed and white we stand, 

Where never again shall be pain or fear 
In the peace of the promised land. 



Shall we quite forget the river of death 
That gloomed so cold and black. 

That stopped our pulses and caught our 
breath, 
From which we could not turn back? 



Shall we quite forget our hours of ruth. 
Shall the scars of our wounds be there. 

When we've put on robes of immortal youth. 
And are past the portals of prayer? 



We cannot tell, but this we know. 
That the river of life will glide 

Full-hearted and strong in its ceaseless flow 
With freight of love on its tide. 



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And love unmarred by the sense of self. 
Love, like the Master's own. 

Love, heavenly pure from dross and pelf, 
Shall be then around us thrown. 



And some whom we missed on the earthly way, 
Some lost and mourned will come 

To give us greeting and cheer the day 
Of the ageless, deathless home. 



Oh, river of death, since by your waves 
The river of life we'll gain. 

The farther shore your dark tide laves 
Is the home for which we are fain. 



Oh, river of life, so clear and strong. 
Whence all our streams are fed ; 

By your fadeless bank we shall lift a song. 
When the death we dreaded, is dead. 

192 




The Endless Procession 

jOREVER and ever the train goes by, 
The train of the marching years, 
Sunshine and starbeam and cloud in 
the sky. 
And under them smiles and tears. 
Never to pause, but on and on. 

The grave years pass along, 
With their battles lost and their victories won. 
And their mighty motley throng. 

Hazy and dim are the yesterdays. 

And ever beyond our grasp. 
Not the skirt of the latest that trod our ways 

Can our utmost effort clasp. 
Hazy and dim to-morrows stretch 

In an endless winding chain, 
But we know not what their hands shall fetch 

Of wealth, or joy, or pain. 

We stand on the place To-day has given, 

To make or to mar our lot ; 
We may fill it up to the brim with heaven. 

Or blur it with stain and blot. 
13 193 




Bravely may toil for the good and true. 

Earnestly strive and pray, 
But the good or the ill we all may do, 

Must be done in the span of To-day. 



The new year dawns and the old year dies, 

It is all in the space of a breath ; 
As silent as flake that downward flies. 

For thus our Father saith. 
And babes are born and old men sleep. 

And wars and tumults rage, 
We sow in the spring and in autumn reap, 

And spend our pilgrimage. 



And love, it lightens the darkest hour. 

It sweetens the bitterest cup, 
And for want and weakness is God's own dower 

Of strength if they but look up. 
So cheer thee, heart, and bear thy part 

Wherever the need may be. 
Trust thou in God, and where'er thou art, 

His grace shall guerdon thee. 

194 




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Steadily, endlessly, one by one, 

The years go marching past; 
For each shall come, and one by one. 

The year that shall be the last. 
But over the great time-bridge we'll tread 

To the house of the Lord Most High, 
Where death our foe is forever dead. 

And life abides for aye. 



The World of Books 

'HEN garden toil is wearisome, and 
weeds their battles wage, 
I sometimes leave the wide outdoors, 
and seek with bard and sage, 
A little sheltered nook within, where waits 

good company, 
And many friends with cordial looks give greet- 
ing unto me. 

There are who find their happiness in strolling 

near and far. 
As if perchance their birth had been beneath 

some errant star; 

195 





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The trackless desert beckons them, they scale 

the mountain peak, 
And ever just beyond them see some gladness 

coy to seek. 
For me, I sit beside my fire, and with benignant 

looks 
From dear familiar shelves they smile, my 

pleasant friends, the books. 

A world of good society, these well-beloved 
ones wait 

For any mood, for any hour ; they keep a cour- 
teous state, 

Serene and unperturbed amid the ruffles of my 
day, 

They are the bread my spirit craves, they bless 
my toiling way. 

A pleasant world is theirs, wherein, as battles 

wax and wane. 
There rolls the sound of triumph, and there 

dwells surcease of pain. 
On pages sparkling as the dawn forever 

breathes and glows, 
Through ages red with patriot blood, white 

freedom's stainless rose. 

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In this fair world of calmest skies, I meet the 

martyr's palm, 
" There float to it dear melodies from coasts of 

heavenly balm; 
All comfort here, all strength, all faith, all 

bloom of wisdom lives, 
And be the day's need what it may, some boon 

this fair world gives. 

The freedom of the city where one walks in 

crowds, alone, 
The silence of the upland, where one climbs 

anear the throne. 
The blitheness of the morning, and the solemn 

hush of night. 
Are in this pleasant world of books, for one 

who reads aright. 

Here, pure and sharp the pictured spire its 

cleaving point uplifts. 
There, swept by stormy winds of fate, time's 

sands are tossed in drifts. 
And I who sit beside the fire am heir of time 

and sense, 
My book to me, the angel of God's sleepless 

providence. 

197 




Who will, may choose to wander far across the 
sea and land, 

For me the table and the lamp extend a friend- 
lier hand ; 

And I am blessed beyond compare while with 
benignant looks 

From home's familiar shelves they smile, my 
pleasant world of books. 



At Last 




JE shall meet, when the long day is 
ended. 
And the sun has gone down in the 
West, 
In the home where the kindred have gathered, 
With the One we love best. 



We shall know, when the struggle is over, 
And our eyes are close folded in sleep. 

The reasons, our dear Lord keeps secret, 
We shall smile, we who weep. 

198 



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FIELD^GARDEN 



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We shall wear, not the garments of travel, 
The robes that were stained at our toil. 

But white shimmering stuff that the angels 
Have winnowed from soil. 

We shall hear, not the clangor of battle. 

But hymns of rejoicing and love. 
When we sit at the board with the Master, 

In the mansions above. 

We shall fly, we who grope and who stumble, 
Unhindered from star-coast to star; 

Once our wings have been given, with freedom 
Which flesh with its bonds cannot mar. 



We shall meet, oh! the bliss after parting. 
We shall sing, oh ! the sweet after rue. 

We shall love, oh! the love without ending, 
We shall know, oh ! the love that is true. 

We shall rally, who here were far scattered, 
And each of the tribe and the clan 

Shall be close to the heart of the Captain, 
Shall have comfort of God and of Man. 

199 




We shall find in the heavenly mansions 
Dear friends whom we missed by the way. 

We shall knit up the threads that were broken, 
In our work or our play. 

We shall see how the infinite Father 
Discerned what was wisest for each. 

And the praise for His grace shall be fervent, 
In song and in speech. 

We shall meet, when the earth day is over. 
And the sun hath gone down in the West. 

We shall stay in the house of the kindred. 
With the One we love best. 



200 



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